Chapter Eighteen – An Eye for an Eye

When he crossed the Playford River, Jim’s gut was full of a hastily eaten cold meal of rice, kangaroo meat and pickled cauliflower. The taste of curry still lingered in his mouth, unfamiliar but not unpleasant. He’d hated leaving his wounded friend, but Sam was now on the way to Alexandria with Mahomet and his family, settled as comfortably as possible on a riding camel, padded and lying face down, legs dangling on either side.

Jim tried to shake any feelings of guilt and worry, instead focussing his thoughts on Kahl, and his gang. He had never learned to count numbers beyond the fingers of both hands, but there were more horsemen in the group than that. They were armed and dangerous, but the shooting of Sam could not go unpunished. Jim would not trouble a magistrate or courtroom to see it done.

He had learned the laws of retribution way back, from the clever men and elders, and had sat through enough white men’s funerals and sermons to have heard the same philosophy: Fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth; whatever injury he has given a person shall be given to him. In both cultures the meaning was clear: Kahl must pay for what he did to Sam.

It was too dark to see prints or hoof marks, but the track itself, once Jim reached it, was visible enough. From then on, he maintained a trot, using the stronger night vision in the corners of his eyes to pick his way along stretches of difficult terrain. Mostly, however, the plains were dead flat in all directions.

A storm must have passed through in recent hours, for the ground became soft, and the sound of the horses’ hooves less defined. Standing water sat in puddles and pools on each side, in between tussocks of grass and spinifex, before the land became dry once more.

It must have been after midnight when he saw the flames of a campfire flickering on the trees surrounding a waterhole. The size of the fire and the bedrolls around it meant a substantial party of men – surely Kahl and his gang.

Jim dismounted and tied Cartridge to a tree, taking the time to stroke and reassure the animal, while Sam’s mare nuzzled up for the same treatment. When both were settled, munching on grass, Jim started forward, towards the crowd around the fire. He wasn’t worried that the white men would see him – most were asleep in their bedrolls in any case, but there were black men in the party, with keener senses, and hunting dogs also. He moved with extra caution.

There was a man on watch, Jim noted, sitting just this side of the fire, and a couple more were drinking from a demijohn nearer the flames. Jim, deciding that he had seen enough, melted back into the night, tuning his ear for the sound of tinkling hobble chains and night bells, crouching low so he could see the shapes of feeding horses silhouetted against the night sky.

Skittish creatures at the best of times, a stranger arriving in the darkness was enough to send any horse into a panic. Jim took the time to single the animals out and approach them one at a time, staying at their front, and making soothing noises in his throat.

When Jim came up to the first horse, a chestnut that looked almost black under the starry sky, it took a moment or two of gentle conversation before it suffered him to come close. He bent down and used his pen knife to cut the hobble strap from the off-side leg, then leaned further to cut the other. The horse snorted once, realised it was no longer restrained, then walked off.

Freeing the horses from their hobbles was not a quick process. It was dark, they were spread out, and they did not take kindly to an unfamiliar stranger. Even so, one by one Jim found them, cut the straps and moved on to the next. When he was certain that he had found and released them all, he started heading around past the outlaw camp to get back to his own horses.

The sound of a dog broke the silence – a high pitched yip, almost a series of howls rather than a bark, accompanied by deep growling. Jim began to run, as soundlessly as he could. Voices came as the dog alarmed the men around the fireside.

Reaching Cartridge and the mare, Jim untied the knot that held them to the tree, then mounted and galloped back close to the outlaws’ camp, where he came to a stop. He scanned the camp until he saw the unmistakable figure of Kahl. He slipped his rifle from its scabbard, fitted it snugly to his shoulder and swung the sights down until the pip rested on Kahl’s stomach.

An eye for an eye …

He made sure of his aim. This was his last cartridge for the rifle, and the pistol was useless at that distance, particularly at night.

He had just started squeezing the trigger when there was a rushing sound out of the night and the yellow dog came at him, still making a combination of growls and high-pitched sounds. Then it came rushing in, trying to bite at Cartridge’s feet. The horse, taken by surprise at this vicious attack, reared and did his best to kick at the dog, almost dislodging Jim in the process.

 By the time he had settled the horse and started moving away from the dog, Kahl was no longer a clear target. In fact, the men around the fire were all on the move, rolling out of swags and looking for weapons.

Jim turned his horse and spurred him on, pushing the rifle back into the scabbard. He rode to where he had last seen the outlaws’ horses, and as he neared the area he drew his revolver from its holster and fired two shots into the air. He heard whinnies of fear, and the sound of galloping hooves as the horses took flight.

Jim controlled his own horse, turned him, and pushed him into a gallop, with Sam’s mare following. The yellow dog ran after them for a good hundred yards before giving up and staying behind.

***

When Kahl first heard the dog barking he sat up. ‘Who’s on watch there. Better not be blacks trying to steal our damned horses.’

Standing, he peered out into the darkness, trying to discern any movement apart from the yellow wraith of a dog.

He never knew how close he came to a bullet in the gut as he lurched into action, still calling for the others to wake and arm themselves. There was the sound of horses out in the night, and Kahl started to wonder if Will Jones had not doubled back to attack them.

A moment later came the twin blasts of a firearm, and accompanying muzzle flashes fifty yards away to the east. The tribes here did not have guns, so it could not be them. This was a deliberate act, a declaration of war.

Brandishing his own pistol, Kahl ran out of the firelight to where he could see a man on horseback, with another horse trailing, galloping away past them, towards Brunette. He raised his revolver, steadied it, and fired. There was no chance of a hit, but it made him feel better to retaliate in some way.

 Even so, he was in a fury as he stomped back into camp.

‘Who’s the useless cur who was on watch?’ he shouted. ‘And where’s our damned horses?’

***

Once the moon was up, Jim made good time. At one point he passed a camp of Gangalidda people. He could smell the scorched remains of a kangaroo on the fire. They were mostly women and young boys, getting up from their sleeping places as he rode past. Some hid in the long grass until he was gone.

It was near dawn before he reached Lainey, Will and Lenny, reining in to part-relieved and part-worried looks. The line of packs streamed from a rope attached to Lenny’s saddle, and they looked all-out. Will was riding one of the spares while his stallion took a rest. It had been a long night for them too, no doubt about that.

‘Where’s Sam?’ Will asked.

Jim came to a stop, his horse a lather of sweat ‘That mongrel Kahl shot him. He’s alive, and will be at Alexandria by now, with ol’ Mahomet.’

‘Shot?’

‘Yeah, in the gut.’

‘Is he gonna live?’ Lenny asked.

‘Hell bloke, I hope so.’

‘I knew this was a dumb idea,’ said Lainey. Her face had turned red with shock, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes. They all liked Sam, and Lainey wasn’t good at bottling things up.

‘You mean pertendin’ to burn the mail?’ Will asked.

‘Not just that. This whole damned trip was a fool’s idea. Why do you think they handed the job to the first drongo to ride in an’ want to make a few bucks? Because it was a bloody set up, that’s why. We should dump those mail bags now, and ride back to find Sam – no one’s gonna look after him like we can.’

Jim added, ‘That Kahl fella still has to pay for what he done to Sam, too.’

 Will stared at Lainey for a moment, then turned to Jim, ‘How far behind us are they?’

‘I cut their horses loose. They’ll be a few hours, I reckon.’

‘That’s good news anyway. But look, we took on this job. We have to finish it. Let’s go on, an’ if they follow us, we’ll turn and give ‘em somethin’ to think about. Otherwise, we’ll deal with them on the way back. Fair enough?’

‘Sounds fair,’ said Lenny, and Jim nodded his head once. Lainey said nothing, just kept her hands folded in front of her chest.

‘Still a fair ways to Brunette, so let’s get movin’’ said Will.

As the three men and the horses rode off, Lainey lagged behind, her lower lip hanging down in an unhappy droop. Finally, she turned and galloped after them.

©2025 Greg Barron
Continued next Sunday
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