Chapter Fourteen – The Playford River

For two days they crossed black soil plains, bluebush swamps and patches of gidgee scrub; dodging squalls and being entertained by Afsana and his camel.

The boy proved to be an interesting addition to the group. He talked constantly to his camel in Balochi, his voice rising and falling in pitch like a running stream. He did, however, know some English. The problem was that he had picked up his words and phrasing from listening to bullockies and stockmen, and the colourful language issuing from his lips, had the little gang in stitches.

‘How old are you, Afsana?’ Lainey asked him.

‘Blarst me, no more’n ten,’ he replied.

‘What’s the camel’s name?’

‘Why, the old bugger’s name be Pachen, which in English mean billy-goat.’

‘That’s a strange name,’ Will said. ‘Any reason you call him billy-goat?’

Afsana grinned, ‘Turn your back an’ bend over and you bloody find out – get a sore arse for days after Pachen bucks at ya.’

‘Charmin’ beast,’ said Lainey, and Will noticed that she never turned her back on that animal, not for the whole time they travelled together.

Best of all though, the boy knew the route to Alexandria Station well, and they moved confidently across open grasslands, with occasional small hills of rubble. They did not always follow a recognised track, though here and there were old ruts from waggonettes, the remains of hearth fires from drovers, travellers or stock camps.

 The sheep country seemed to have ended. The black pellets they left in abundance were no longer evident, replaced by the heaped dung of cattle, and a bovine scent on the breeze. It seemed to Will that this change corresponded to them leaving the higher downs, and the heat seemed to grow more intense, while Little Blue walked beside him, tireless and watchful.

They had been on a long flat stage when Gamilaroi Jim rode up beside Will. For a time they carried on in silence. Cartridge wasn’t so keen on riding close to George, and made his feelings known. Jim turned his head away with the reins, but still kept him riding straight. Nothing was said for a moment or two. Jim never hurried a conversation.

‘Hey bloke,’ he said finally, ‘you remember that time when I borrowed that chestnut from ol’ Judge Briar around Boggabri way, back down South?’

Will grinned at the memory. Jim had indeed borrowed the horse. The judge had foolishly left it saddled outside the Royal Hotel, and Jim had needed it at the time. In any case, an hour later Will, Jim and Sam were heading hell-for-leather north, into the rugged country of the Nandewar Range. They’d ended up high in the sub-alpine air of the Mount Kaputar plateau, amongst snow and ribbon gums, riding shoeless across volcanic fields where the tracks would never show. They inhabited cold overhangs, eating grey kangaroo meat and not much else, while the traps crisscrossed the mountains on their trail, harangued by the judge, furious at the loss of his horse.

‘Coldest month of my life,’ Jim grinned.

Will remembered his mate riding with a blanket wrapped around his torso, and shivering at night camps amongst heath and tea-tree, while soaks that dripped from the cliff face turned to ice. ‘Hard to imagine, up here in this blessed heat,’ he said. ‘But anyways Jim, what’s yer point?’

‘Remember that day, when you reckoned we was safe to leave, and we rode down the Bullawa Valley towards Narrabri.’

‘I remember,’ said Will. ‘You told me that you had a feeling that we was being followed, an’ you doubled back, just in time to save our necks. Gawd what a day, walking the horses down that damn creek for five bloody miles.’

‘We lost them, but,’ said Jim.

‘That’s right, we did.’

Jim rode on in silence again for a bit, the reins in one hand, looking with a distracted gaze around him with only the squeak of leather, and the sound of Afsana chastising his camel somewhere up behind. ‘Well, I got that feeling that we’re being followed again now.’

‘Oh,’ said Will. ‘That aren’t good. What do you reckon we should do?’

‘Might ride back and see,’ Jim went on. ‘Then catch up with youse later.’

‘Good idea.’

Jim gave his horse the spur, surged ahead then wheeled back the way they had come, waving his hat as he passed.

‘Where’s Jim goin’?’ called Lainey.

‘Back to see if we’ve picked up anyone on our tail,’ Will assured her. ‘I doubt that he’ll be too long.’

***

They reached the Playford River in the late afternoon. The chains of waterholes were starting to flow, and herons stood in the channels between, picking off spangled perch and bony bream as they foraged into the shallows. There were fine camping places aplenty, and Lainey did the choosing, selecting a grassy place beside a broad and deep waterhole. There was a fireplace, previously used, with a couple of logs dragged up for use as seats.

Sam had scarcely dropped his bedroll and hobbled out the plant before he was down on the riverbank fishing, soon pulling in a couple of fat grunter.

Jim came riding back, long after they had finished the meal. Cartridge was hot from the run, sweat darkening his flanks. Jim was calm as usual, his bare chest shining in the starlight.

Will stood up to meet him, ‘You find anything?’

Jim dismounted and came into the firelight. ‘Yeah, bloke. When we’d stopped in that bluebush swamp back at dinner time. Three men, follow us, close up like I thought. They tethered the horses, an’ crept near us – walking at first, then on their bellies like grubs an’ watched us from a ridge. Then they went back to the horses, and they ride away real quick.’

Will looked at Jim, then Lainey and Sam. ‘Gone to bring up their mates. Do you reckon it was those buggers from Camooweal?’

‘Two was barefoot – blackfellas – the other was that young bloke who was with the Irishman and the fella with the scarred back.’

Lenny piped up, ‘Well that’s bad news. We should mount up and ride or they’ll be on us.’

Will looked at him, annoyed, ‘Just pipe down and let us think for a bit. It aren’t so simple, an’ we’ve got Afsana to think of too.’ At that moment his gaze turned to Lenny, and something cold passed across his face. He said to Sam, ‘Why don’t you take Afsana down to check your set lines? Jim will be hungry for a feed.’

When they had gone, Will got up and stretched, as if the conversation was over, circled around Lenny without him noticing, then leaned down, grabbed the butt of the other man’s revolver, and lifted it neatly. Before Lenny could react, Will had him covered with the weapon, the muzzle pointed at his chest.

‘Now,’ Will said, ‘before we go any further you need to explain yerself.’

‘What on earth do ya mean?’ spat Lenny, eyes wide. ‘I ain’t been anything but straight with you people since the day we met, and that crazy Irishman shot …’

‘Listen,’ said Lainey. ‘A smart mouth ain’t gonna get you out of trouble. This is life and death. We’ve got a party of no-hopers on our trail, through no fault of our own, an’ we need to know what side yer on.’

‘I’m on your side, a’course,’ said Lenny. But his face had turned pale.

Will raised his chin, ‘Then why did I see you goin’ through the mail, a couple of nights ago, after that damned storm?’

‘I didn’t!’ squealed Lenny.

‘I seen you do it mate. Cut the lies out – they don’t help.’

‘Well, I was jus’ checkin’ that the mail weren’t too wet. That’s all.’

Will’s voice, in reply, was low and matter-of-fact. ‘There was one letter, that you found and held up, like you’d been looking for it. Start talking, or I swear we’ll tie you to a tree, and you can use your sweet talk on whoever’s comin’ to find us.’

‘No, don’t do that. I’ll tell you what I know, but it ain’t much, by any means. My boss, Kennedy, told me to come along – that there’s a letter for a bloke called Williamson – and he said I had to make sure that one gets through. He said that there’s folk who don’t want this Williamson fellow to get his mail. The night after the storm I was checking that it was still there, that it never got too wet.’

Lainey asked the next question, ‘Why was the Irishman and his two mates in Camooweal, have they got something to do with all this?’

‘I think so – but I dunno fer sure. Can you please point that gun somewhere else.’

Will lowered the revolver, and seemed to be about to hand it back. At the last moment, though, he unlocked the cylinder, swung it out, and banged the weapon hard against his hand to allow the caps to dislodge from the nipples and fall to the ground.

He passed the weapon back, ‘I trust you a little more, but not completely. You’ll have to earn the rest.’ Then, as Sam and the boy returned from the river with two more fish, he said, ‘Now it’s time to come up with an idea. We need to do something, and we need to do it fast.’

©2025 Greg Barron
Continued next Sunday
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