It took fifteen minutes.

At the sound of Niall’s voice Harry’s whimpers had ceased and, no matter how much Jessie called, she wasn’t able to hear the dog again. Then it was a case of physically searching inside every hollow log and under every piece of undergrowth.

In the end it wasn’t Niall who found Harry but Harry who found Niall. Niall lifted a piece of bush and Harry’s black face lunged forward in snarling menace. Teeth sank into Niall’s leather boot-and then the dog shrieked in pain as his movement made the agony from his injuries unbearable. The dog fell back, teeth still bared in a grimace of suffering.

Jessie had heard. She came flying from twenty yards away, half expecting Niall Mountmarche to kick out in fury.

The Ogre of Barega did no such thing. The man knelt, just out of range of the menacing teeth, and his voice softened.

‘Hey, old fella,’ he said gently. ‘We’ve been looking for you. There’s no need to attack. We’re here to help.’

He knew animals, then. Jessie’s fears receded further. This man knew a desperately injured dog would react by defending itself. The worse its pain became the more it would defend itself-to the point where a badly injured dog could even bite its owner.

Harry was confused and in pain and, Jessie guessed, starved almost to death. They could expect no cooperation from Harry.

Jess knelt beside Niall and looked under the bush where Harry lay. All she could see were the whites of his eyes wide with terror-and the bared teeth.

‘Any suggestions?’ Niall asked and his tone was sardonic again. It suggested that Jessie’s claim to being a vet was ridiculous.

‘I’ll dart him with a tranquilliser if I must,’ Jessie said, hauling her bag from her shoulder and flicking it open. ‘But I don’t want to. He’ll be weak enough as it is.’