Nestling at the bottom of a shallow ditch, surrounded by jagged ribs of wood that protruded from the ground like the long gnarled fingers of a clawing hand, Julian found something he’d hoped he’d find.

He squatted in the ditch, teasing the wet peat-like soil aside. His fingers traced around the edge of his find: a small tin chest, black and pitted with rust and decay, but incredibly, still firmly sealed. He found a latch at the front; no longer functioning, of course. Time, moisture and the elements had turned it into one solid nugget of flaking, oxidised metal. He pulled out a pen-knife and probed the latch with the tip of the blade. It began to crumble.

‘What have you got there?’ said Grace, standing over him.

Julian lurched. ‘Jesus… I didn’t see you there.’ He pointed at the chest. ‘The whole thing’s still sealed. It’s incredible.’

She stepped down into the ditch beside him and looked around at the ribs of wood protruding from the ground around them. ‘Seems they built some kinda shelter out of each of the wagons.’

‘They knew they were going nowhere.’

Grace nodded. ‘And that’s when they turned on their wagons and pulled them to pieces. They must’ve been stuck here for a long, long while.’

A thought occurred to him. ‘No bodies so far, Grace. Why do you think that is?’

‘The animals will have had them. Anybody died here would have been bear or cougar food before long.’

‘Surely there’d be bones lying around, though?’

Grace shook her head. ‘Not here. Maybe go looking around hard enough, you’ll find them all together stacked neatly into a hillside nook, like hotdogs in a jar. A bear larder. Could be one just a few hundred yards from here, could be a mile away.’