They were nearly out of the gorge. They walked a half-cut wild cattle track. They had lost the track for a time. But now a spitting hissing rain was washing it clean again.

Nixon watched the declining ridge.

Up on the rim was a rider. The horse snorting smoke, the man with a rifle in his hands and another across his back. Water sprayed off the top of the gorge.

Tasker and Scanlan looked up and saw Jim Kenniff and fell behind their horses.

Nixon pulled his rifle to his shoulder. He breathed deep. He pressed as hard as he could on the trigger without firing and thought, Fire, man. Fire now. But he looked up from the sight and shouted into the wind.

‘Come down, man!’