Behind Kennedy’s Hotel there was a yard, shaded in part, by a bough shed. It wasn’t exactly cool, Will decided, but it was better than open sunlight. There were four or five horses there, hitched to rails with rope halters. Others, presumably the publican’s own plant, were nearby, in covered stalls. A trio of stable boys sat on stumps in the shade, laughing and smoking.
With the horses tethered, and Little Blue on guard duty over the swags, packs and saddles, Will waited while Lainey checked again that no stray wisps of long hair had escaped from under her hat. ‘You’ll pass fer a bloke, any day,’ he said. ‘There’s so much dirt on yer face they’d need to scrub you up to see any difference.’
‘You ain’t exactly clean yerself,’ retorted Lainey.
On the way in, they passed through a loading area, churned by the hooves of bullocks and the wheels of drays, alongside the open rear doors of the store next to the pub. Looking inside, Will could see shelves packed with goods. Stores in the bush were not always fully stocked, and he was pleased to see that this one was well provisioned.
Passing through the door, then down a corridor, the four of them walked into the hotel interior, taking stools side by side, and laying their weapons down. Kennedy had been leaning on the bar talking to Lenny Newman, but broke off when Will and the others took their seats.
‘Ah,’ said Kennedy. ‘You’re back to pay for that drink. Lenny here was starting to doubt you.’
Lenny threw his head back and laughed. ‘Never doubted you, mate. Not for a minute.’
Will laid a golden sovereign on the bar. ‘No need to doubt me. Take the money you need, then add four rums and a tin of that Goodwin tobaccer you’ve got stacked up over there. Then, give us the drum on what tucker yer babbler’s got handy.’
Kennedy took the coin off the bar and flipped it, catching it neatly. ‘I for one, am happy to serve drinks to any man who can pay, but there’s some who would look askance at two white fellas travelling with such company.’ He lowered his voice and waggled a finger at Jim and Sam. ‘I can abide the Chinaman, but why don’t you send the boy out the back? Lenny will bring him out a glass of ale, if that’s what he has the taste for.’
Will threw an arm around Jim’s shoulder. ‘No chance of that,’ he said. ‘This is Gamilaroi Jim – a legend in his homeland. He’s not a boy, he’s a mate, an’ there’s an important difference between the two. As a mate, he goes where I go.’
‘Could he at least put on a shirt?’
Jim spoke up for himself. ‘Hey bloke, I don’t own no shirt. I can’t hardly wear what I don’t got.’
Lennie Newman slapped his leg, laughing. Kennedy said nothing, just looked perturbed.
‘Let’s say no more about it,’ said Will. ‘Anyhow, look, you’ve took our money, so what’s on the plate?’
Kennedy’s face remained ugly for a few moments, then recovered. ‘Roast meal for sixpence – two shillings for the bunch of you, and I’ll throw in a jug of ale to wash it down.’
‘Generous of you,’ said Will.
Kennedy’s eyes glittered. ‘I take it that Mr Kellick was able to oblige you with an offer of employment?’
‘That he was. In two days’ time the four of us will take the Territory mail to the Gulf town of Borroloola, then return with the same, Queensland-bound.’
Sam looked up in surprise, his brown eyes at first alarmed, then amused. ‘One more mail run?’ he asked.
Lainey was likewise alarmed, but she remembered to keep her voice low and male-sounding. ‘Didn’t we do something like that before? It weren’t exactly our finest hour.’
Will cracked a crooked grin. Lainey was referring to the time they had ridden six hundred miles, taking a parcel to a man, who at first refused to part with the fifty pounds they’d been promised, then finally caved in, and opened the package, with fatal consequences. ‘Well … that just means we’re experienced,’ he said.
When no further wisdom was offered on the topic, Kennedy grabbed the tin of tobacco, sat it in front of Will, then poured four measures of rum into glasses. ‘I’ll get the tucker ordered,’ he said, then wandered away to the kitchen.
The food, when it arrived, was eagerly set upon – roast beef with a thick layer of fat, potatoes and green peas, all covered with gravy. The whole was served with slices of fresh, crusty bread, spread thickly with salty butter. There was scarcely a sound between the four of them, as the meal was completed. The level in the glasses of rum, then the ale jug, fell steadily.
When it was done, and the plates cleared away, Will eased back in his stool, and opened the tobacco tin. He rubbed a good, long flake between the palms of his hands in a slow and deliberate circular motion. After filling the bowl of his pipe, he passed the tin around. While they smoked, Sam started to take an interest in the poker game still current at the big table, watching out of the corner of his eye and tapping his fingers.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Will warned. ‘There’s no cash to spare, for you to gamble away.’
Sam’s eyes darkened. ‘Just look-see. No play.’
Will poured the last ale from the jug, sharing it judiciously between them, then was side-tracked by the tall, well-built black man who had provided such a spectacle out the front, earlier on. He came up to the bar and asked Kennedy for a watered whisky.
Once this was received, the newcomer planted himself beside Will. ‘I recognise you and your friends from out on the street there … I hope those drunks weren’t a trouble to you also.’
‘Not much, in the way of things,’ said Will, ‘but I wish they’d go to hell – anywhere but here.’
‘Likewise. My name’s John Weir, formerly of Kingston, Jamaica.’
‘You handled those rascals well,’ said Will, taking a large, work-hardened hand in a firm grip.
‘They’ll have aching heads when they finally stop drinking.’
Will smiled his agreement. ‘You’re a bloody long way from Kingston, Jamaica, aren’t ya?’ He wasn’t sure where that town was located – only that it was indeed a great distance away, over the seas somewhere.
‘I’m travelling,’ said Weir. ‘I figured I’d see the world while I’m still young. Being a carpenter, I can pick up work nigh on anywhere.’ He pointed around the bar, ‘I’ve been felling trees, milling, and building for Mr Kennedy. I did much of this here timber work myself. At the moment I’m running a gang of sawyers on the O’Shannassy. Once we’ve milled a wagon load, we’ll be back down here to finish off the store and build a few boarding rooms.’
‘John is a fine carpenter,’ said Kennedy, who had been loitering and observing. ‘You have my word on it.’
‘Deserves a pay rise, eh?’ suggested the Jamaican with a sparkle in his eye.
Kennedy gave a wry smile, then wandered off to serve another customer.
Weir drained his glass, sat it back on the bar, and took his leave. ‘Now, I’m going to rest for a time, then ride back later tonight with a couple of packhorses loaded with provisions – there’ll be a good moon once these showers pass through, and it’s easier on the horses in the cool of the night.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Will. They had done some night riding themselves over recent weeks. He watched as Weir took himself towards the furthest wall of the room, selected a sofa chair and sat down, soon falling asleep.
After a while there was a peal of thunder from outside, then the patter of rain on the tin roof; light at first, then steady.
Lainey touched Will’s forearm, ‘I think it’s time we headed off.’
‘Might as well let this storm pass through – one more ale.’ said Will. ‘I figure we need it to make up for all the damn water that’s been added.’ He lifted the glass, ‘I swear you can see the river clay swirling around in it.’
‘All ale has sediment,’ said Kennedy, who was lurking again. ‘That’s all it is. Do you want another one or not?’
There was no time for Will to answer, for at that moment the drunk Irishman, Sullivan, appeared from the unguarded back corridor, followed by his two mates. They had abandoned their bottles, but still brandished revolvers. The scarred man came last, now wearing a collarless Henley shirt. Like the others he was wet from the rain, shedding water in all directions as he came.
The Irishman sauntered into the bar area and flicked his eyes left and right, looking for something or someone. Where’s t’at cursed ape?’ he shouted. ‘He’s about to be learned that no man crosses a Sullivan of County Cork.’
When a couple of drinkers tried to stand, the Irishman’s mate, the scarred man, shouted, ‘Stay in those seats – heads down.’ He held his weapon high, heading for the other side of the bar, where the door guard was standing. He’d been caught by surprise and was slow to react, turning to bring his shotgun to bear on the newcomers. Moving at a run, the scarred lag covered him with the revolver, yelled a warning, and the shotgun clattered to the floorboards.
The Irishman saw the man he was seeking, his eyes lighting on the sleeping form of John Weir in the sofa chair. He hurried in that direction, raising the revolver as he approached.
Will, now understanding what the Irishman intended to do, came to his feet in defiance of the scarred man’s order, his glass hitting the floor and shattering into a thousand shards. He had nine or ten strides to cover – trying to stop what he knew, with dread in his heart, might happen next.
‘Stop there, you cur,’ shouted Kennedy, who had retrieved a long Colt revolver from under the bar. Yet, for an inebriated man, the Irishman moved fast as a cat, and just as murderous. There was no way to shoot him from that distance without the likelihood of hitting others.
Will was the front runner to reach him, but before he could get there, the Irishman extended his weapon, aiming down at the centre of John Weir’s chest.
©2025 Greg Barron
Continued next Sunday
Read previous chapters here.
Get previous Will Jones books, Will Jones and the Dead Man’s Letter, and Will Jones and the Blue Dog, here: https://ozbookstore.com/
Stories of Oz 