Jay stopped when he heard shooting. It had come from behind him. It was not Lizzie who had fired, but someone back in the clearing. He waited, but there was no more gunfire.

What did it mean? McAsh could hardly have got hold of a weapon and loaded it. Anyway, the man was a coal miner, he knew nothing of guns. Jay guessed that Lennox or Dobbs had shot McAsh.

Whatever the truth, the all-important task was to capture Lizzie.

Unfortunately, the shooting had warned her.

He knew his wife. What would she do?

Patience and caution were foreign to her. She rarely hesitated. She reacted quickly and decisively. By now she would be running this way. She would be almost back in the clearing before she thought to slow down and look ahead and make a plan.

He found a spot where he could see clearly for thirty or forty yards along the bank of the stream. He hid himself in the bushes. Then he cocked the flintlock of his rifle.

Indecision struck him like a sudden pain. What would he do when she came into his sights? If he shot her all his troubles would be over. He tried to pretend he was hunting deer. He would aim for the heart, just below the shoulder, for a clean kill.

She came into view.

She was half walking and half running, stumbling along the uneven riverbank. She was wearing men’s clothing again, but he could see her bosom heaving with exertion. She carried two rifles under her arm.

He aimed at her heart, but he saw her naked, straddling him on the bed in the Chapel Street house, her breasts quivering as they made love; and he could not shoot.

When she was ten yards away he stepped out of the undergrowth.

She stopped in her tracks and gave a cry of horror.

“Hello, darling,” he said.

She gave him a look of hatred. “Why couldn’t you just let me go?” she said. “You don’t love me!”

“No, but I need a grandchild,” he said.

She looked scornful. “I’d rather die.”

“That’s the alternative,” he said.

There was a moment of chaos after Lennox fired his pistols at Mack.

The horses were frightened by the close-range shooting. Peg’s ran away. She stayed on, tied as she was, and hauled on the reins with her bound hands, but she could not stop it and they disappeared into the trees. Dobbs’s horse was bucking and he fought to bring it under control. Lennox began hastily to reload his weapons.

That was when Fish Boy made his move.

He ran at Dobbs’s horse, jumped on behind him, and wrestled Dobbs out of the saddle.

With a burst of exhilaration Mack realized he was not yet beaten.

Lennox dropped his pistols and ran to the rescue.

Mack stuck out a foot and tripped Lennox.

Dobbs fell off his horse, but one ankle got tangled in the rope by which Fish Boy was tied to the saddle. The horse, now terrified, bolted. Fish Boy clung to its neck for dear life. It ran out of sight, dragging Dobbs along the ground after it.

With savage glee Mack turned to face Lennox. Only the two of them were left in the clearing. At last it had come to a fistfight between them. I’ll kill him, Mack thought.

Lennox rolled over and came up with a knife in his hand.

He lunged at Mack. Mack dodged, then kicked Lennox’s kneecap and danced out of range.

Limping, Lennox came at him. This time he feinted with the knife, let Mack dodge the wrong way, then struck again. Mack felt a sharp pain in his left side. He swung with his right fist and hit Lennox a mighty blow to the side of the head. Lennox blinked and raised the knife.

Mack backed away. He was younger and stronger than Lennox, but Lennox probably had much experience of knife fights. With a stab of panic he realized that close combat was not the way to defeat a man with a knife. He had to change his tactics.

Mack turned and ran a few yards, looking for a weapon. His eye lit on a rock about the size of his fist. He stooped and picked it up and turned.

Lennox rushed him.

Mack threw the rock. It hit Lennox squarely in the center of the forehead, and Mack gave a shout of triumph. Lennox stumbled, dazed. Mack had to make the most of his advantage. Now was the moment to disarm Lennox. Mack kicked out and connected with Lennox’s right elbow.

Lennox dropped the knife and gave a cry of dismay.

Mack had him.

He hit Lennox on the chin with all his might. The blow hurt his hand but gave him deep satisfaction. Lennox backed away, fear in his eyes, but Mack was after him fast. He punched Lennox in the belly, then hit him on each side of the head. Dazed and terrified, Lennox staggered. He was finished, but Mack could not stop. He wanted to kill the man. He grabbed Lennox by the hair, pulled his head down, and kneed him in the face. Lennox screamed and blood spurted from his nose. He fell to his knees, coughed, and vomited. Mack was about to hit him again when he heard Jay’s voice say: “Stop or I’ll kill her.”

Lizzie walked into the clearing and Jay followed, holding his rifle to the back of her head.

Mack stared, paralyzed. He could see that Jay’s rifle was cocked. If Jay even stumbled, the gun would blow her head off. Mack turned away from Lennox and moved toward Jay. He was still possessed by savagery. “You’ve only got one shot,” he snarled at Jay. “If you shoot Lizzie, I’ll kill you.”

“Then perhaps I should shoot you,” Jay said.

“Yes,” Mack said madly, moving toward him. “Shoot me.”

Jay swung the rifle.

Mack felt a wild jubilation: the gun was no longer pointed at Lizzie. He walked steadily toward Jay.

Jay took careful aim at Mack.

There was a strange noise, and suddenly a narrow cylinder of wood was sticking out of Jay’s cheek.

Jay screamed in pain and dropped the rifle. It went off with a bang and the ball flew past Mack’s head.

Jay had been shot in the face with an arrow.

Mack felt his knees go weak.

The noise came again, and a second arrow pierced Jay’s neck.

He fell to the ground.

Into the clearing came Fish Boy, his friend, and Peg, followed by five or six Indian men, all carrying bows.

Mack began to shake with relief. He guessed that when Jay captured Fish Boy, the other Indian had gone for help. The rescue party must have met up with the runaway horses. He did not know what had happened to Dobbs, but one of the Indians was wearing Dobbs’s boots.

Lizzie stood over Jay, staring at him, her hand covering her mouth. Mack went over and put his arms around her. He looked down at the man on the ground. Blood was pouring from his mouth. The arrow had opened a vein in his neck.

“He’s dying,” Lizzie said shakily.

Mack nodded.

Fish Boy pointed at Lennox, who was still kneeling. The other Indians seized him, threw him flat and held him down. There was some conversation between Fish Boy and the oldest of the others. Fish Boy kept showing his fingers. They looked as if the nails had been pulled out, and Mack guessed that was how Lennox had tortured the boy.

The older Indian drew a hatchet from his belt. With a swift, powerful motion he cut off Lennox’s right hand at the wrist.

Mack said: “By Jesus.”

Blood gushed from the stump and Lennox fainted.

The man picked up the severed hand and, with a formal air, presented it to Fish Boy.

He took it solemnly. Then he turned around and hurled it away. It flew up into the air and over the trees, to fall somewhere in the woods.

There was a murmur of approval from the Indians.

“A hand for a hand,” Mack said quietly.

“God forgive them,” said Lizzie.

But they had not finished. They picked up the bleeding Lennox and placed him under a tree. They tied a rope to his ankle, looped the rope over a bough of the tree, and raised him until he was hanging upside-down. Blood pumped from his severed wrist and pooled on the ground beneath him. The Indians stood around, looking at the grisly sight. It seemed they were going to watch Lennox die. They reminded Mack of the crowd at a London hanging.