Chapter Seventeen – Bells and Bullets

In Balochistan, the bells of a camel train were a source of pride to the handler. The waist and crown of these were carved of wood, sized so that the pitch for individual camels was different. The clapper was made from a hard nut or stone. A skilled cameleer could tell his animals apart, purely by the sound of their bells.

Mahomet Lashari had learned the art of carving bells at the feet of his father, and took pride in making his own, usually from redgum or ironwood. The musical notes, as the train moved along during the day, gave him pleasure, and if one of more of his beasts strayed during the night, he could identify the animal, and send one of his sons to collect it.

Now, when Jim heard the sound of wooden bells in the distance, he sat up sharply, leaning forward close to Sam, who had fallen into a feverish sleep. He had a folded blanket for a pillow, and another over his body.

‘You hear that, bloke?’ asked Jim. ‘It’s our mate from the night of the big storm – coming with them camels of his.’

Sam opened his eyes and tried to smile, but his bloodless lips scarcely moved.

‘Scuse us for a moment,’ said Jim. ‘Best I make sure they don’t ride on past.’ He scrambled to build up the fire, using some of the still unburned paper that was scattered around, as well as a few sticks that lay within reach.

When the flames were licking knee-high, he stood waiting, seeing the tall shapes of the camels coming in the dusk, and a turbaned figure walking out in front, a rope attached to the nose-peg of the leading animal. The smell of the beasts filled Jim’s nostrils, and forever afterwards he would associate the smell of camels with the night they helped to save Sam.

When Mahomet saw Jim on the track he barked an order, stopping the train. Then, his eyes moving to Sam, lying wounded, he called for his wife, Wajana, who hurried up. She glanced at Jim, then knelt beside the injured man, lifting the blanket to view his wounds in the firelight.

‘Him bad hurt,’ she said. Then, to Jim, ‘Where ‘bouts li’l boy Afsana belong me?’

Jim didn’t blame her for worrying about her son, seeing as how Sam was lying there with a gunshot wound. ‘Afsana’s safe at Alexandria,’ he said, ‘waitin’ on you mob.’

Mahomet passed the greenhide rope he was holding to one of his sons, then kneeled beside his wife, examining Sam with his hands. ‘This fella been shot?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jim, ‘that old lag called Kahl done it.’

Mahomet inclined his head gravely. ‘Them ruffians pass by us back ‘roun’ dinner time – with plenty noise an’ disturbance. Even birds inna trees, an’ creatures of the earth hide away an’ be silent when bad men ride through.’ After another moment’s pause he announced, ‘We will not camp here as planned, but will take your mate an’ reach Alexandria tonight.’

‘It’s almost dark,’ Jim said.

Wajana’s face was grim, and her hair wild in the firelight, when she said, ‘Mahomet see in dark good as them camel, and we been walk this track plenty time.’

Jim sensed her wisdom, and she scared him a little. ‘I can’t go with youse,’ he blurted. ‘Me other mates are ahead, on the way to Brunette, and them blasted outlaws are treading on their heels. I have to try to protect them if I can.’

Mahomet said, ‘Your wounded mate will be cared for like kin. We will ask our gentlest camel to kneel, and prepare your mate for travel, while you eat a small meal. Then you must go with the blessings of God, to protect the others in your party. Those outlaws have wreaked havoc ‘roun’ here these last twelve month, and my heart is with you in overcoming them.’

***

Lainey, Will, and Lenny rode north with a vengeance, pushing the horses as hard as they dared. Thankfully the new packs, on loan from Alexandria, were well-trained, and the lead mare soon had them in line.

At first, on the other side of the Playford, they encountered sandstone country. It was a rugged stretch, the track climbing over a deep spine of stone. The rocks were difficult to see as the sun went down, and a hazard to the horses. This rough terrain required a cautious approach, and Will begrudged the slow pace of their progress.

Before long, however, they were back on the savannah plains – seemingly endless in the starlight. Mitchell and Flinders grasses grew knee high in all directions, with occasional swampy patches of tussock and wild rice. The track broadened, and they made good speed, trying to ignore the weariness that assailed them, body and mind, focussing on getting ahead of any possible pursuit.

Little Blue loped alongside Will’s stallion, never falling off the pace, apart from occasionally stopping to sniff at something of interest: a clump of grass, a place where other travellers had stopped to rest, or where wild animals or cattle had crossed the track.

At one stage, Will narrowly avoided riding George, his stallion, onto a large snake that could only be a king brown or taipan. Too slender for a python, it was six or seven feet long, sprawled out on the track, enjoying the warmth that was still retained there.

Will’s eyes had adjusted to the starlight, yet it was only at the last minute that he saw the serpentine shape. He turned hard, avoiding the creature by a yard or two.

‘Go right,’ he called to the others. ‘A bloody snake – big barsted too.’

When the moon rose, in the early hours of the morning, the small party reached a creek that ran high and brown. They watered the horses, and the waning moon provided enough light for Will to read the map that Andy Kellick had given him.

‘This is called Milliebah Creek,’ Will said. ‘It’s not too far to Brunette now. I say we keep riding and rest up for the day near the station, where we’ll be safe. With luck Jim and Sam will catch up with us there.’

‘I’m just about done in,’ said Lainey, ‘but if you can keep going, I can.’

Lenny grunted a response, but the bags under his eyes were almost as dark as the sky. ‘Do you think that the trick of burning the mail might put them off? Hell, maybe Kahl and his mates won’t follow us at all.’

Will shook his head. ‘What if they rode cross-country for a bit, and missed the whole thing? What if the fire went out and they didn’t believe Sam an’ Jim? No, until proved wrong, I’m sayin’ that Kahl is just behind us, breathing down our necks.’

***

With the scent of Will’s blue heeler in his nostrils, the yellow dog stayed on the trail like a magnet on iron. Occasionally, over rocks or water, he was forced to hunt around in circles, snuffling and sniffing at the ground in audible puffs, before finding the scent again.

On the other side of some sandstone ridges, it became obvious that Will Jones and his crew were using the track for reasons of speed, and would continue to do so. From that point on, the yellow dog simply trotted down the middle of that thoroughfare, his coat standing out in the darkness like a lantern.

The men were the problem. Riding hard at night was not to their liking, and they had been much more enthusiastic about plundering the mail, rather than taking revenge on Will Jones.

It was Sutch who rode up alongside the German, long after the time when, back at camp, the men would have eaten their fill of stolen mutton or beef and sat around drinking rum and spinning yarns.

‘The boys ain’t happy,’ Sutch said. ‘They want to doss down now, an’ take a fresh start in the morning.’

‘Not yet,’ Kahl said. ‘Will Jones and his mates have a string of packs to baby along, and they’re shorthanded. If we press on hard we might catch them tonight. That dog is on the scent now, but what if it rains? We might lose them.’

‘They’re on the blasted road,’ said Sutch. ‘There’s no reason to think that they’ll head off it. Why would they, on a night like this? Anyhow, the boys say that they’ll ride ‘til midnight, not a minute longer. One of them has got a saddle watch, and they all swear they’ll stop at that time.’

Kahl was tired too – his eyes stung, and he ached in thighs, buttocks and back – yet he wanted Will Jones. ‘That makes no damn sense. We’d miss the hours after moonrise, when we can move more quickly.’

Bennett rode up beside them, ‘Hey, let’s all take a breather while we talk this out.’

Kahl realised that this was not something he could bluster through, Jack Nunn would support him, but not the others. With a sigh he brought pressure on his horse with knees and rein and guided him to a stop. Meanwhile, the other horsemen rode up close so they could hear the conclusion of this discussion, forming a rough but intimidating circle.

Bennett seized on Kahl’s previous comment. ‘Maybe ol’ Kaiser has a point here. It may be best to stop soon, eat and rest, then get going again after moonrise. What do you blokes think?’

Kahl felt a bloody rage rise in him. ‘I’ve told you I’ll kill you, when this is over, if you keep calling me that.’

Bennett turned, lifted his chin and spat a wad of tobacco high in the air, so that they heard it land far out on the grass. ‘Well, you can only kill me once, so I might as well have my fun while I can. How ‘bout it though? There’s a waterhole named Connell’s Lagoon up ahead half a mile or so. We can stop there, get some rest and get back to chasin’ this damned mailman when we’ve some light to see by.’

There was a mutter of agreement from the other men.

‘Very well,’ said Kahl finally. ‘We’ll rest until moonrise. Then we ride on and don’t stop ‘til we find them.’

©2025 Greg Barron
Continued next Sunday
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