‘Ma’am, I hate to ask this of you, but you have to burn everything that was in the Murray’s room. Furniture, sheets, towels—and scrub everywhere they went with carbolic.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

Caleb took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I don’t wish to alarm you. I—I am a doctor and I think I know what ailed Mrs Murray.’

Mrs Gulliver stared at him, her kindly eyes troubled. ‘A doctor? I don’t understand … What ailed Mrs Murray?’

‘Smallpox.’ Caleb almost exhaled the word.

Mrs Gulliver’s delicate rose-decorated tea cup hit the verandah and shattered into pieces.

Caleb didn’t linger at the Shady Creek Hotel. He turned his tired horse northward, hoping to catch the travellers at the Thompson River guesthouse. He arrived well after dark, his horse too weary to go any further.

When he asked after the Murrays, the proprietor told him they had arrived late in the afternoon and insisted Amos take them through to Maiden’s Creek while the daylight lasted. Murray had even paid Amos extra.

‘He weren’t too happy, but a pound’s a pound,’ the man concluded. ‘Hope they got down Little John’s in one piece.’

The rain had started again and Caleb had to admit he would be foolish to continue on to Maiden’s Creek in the dark. He had to rest his horse and wait until morning.

He left at first light but the going was slow, the track deadly, with water-filled ruts and potholes. At the top of Little John’s Sleigh Ride, Caleb dismounted and led Shadow down the hill and even then he lost his footing several times and slid through the gloop. He arrived in Maiden’s Creek in the late afternoon and limped through town leading his tired, mud-caked and exhausted horse to the livery stable.

Caleb handed the dispirited animal over to Sones. ‘I’m looking for Amos Burrell,’ he said.

Sones jerked his head in the direction of the stable. ‘He’s in there seeing to his horses. Stupid fool came all the way through from Shady Creek last night and Mac’s gone lame.’

Caleb found Amos perched on the divider between horse stalls, chewing on a piece of straw and watching Mac. The horse’s head drooped and he was favouring his right foreleg, which sported a foul-smelling poultice.

‘Will he be all right?’ Caleb asked, rubbing the neck of the gentle giant.

‘Dunno,’ Amos said morosely. ‘I knew I shouldn’t ’ave brought ’em down Little John’s last night. Bastard Murray. Wasn’t worth the extra pound. Won’t be going down to Shady Creek until Mac’s up to it so that’s me income lost.’

‘And the Murrays? Where are they?’

Amos removed the straw from his mouth and his lip curled. ‘The missus was right poorly so ’is nibs insisted I drop ’em at the Britannia.’