Chapter Twenty – The Dark Night

The shooting of Bennett had consequences, most of them positive, from Kahl’s point of view. First with furtive glances, then grudging acceptance, the men began to treat him with respect. They had seen him kill without hesitation. He’d proved to be a decisive and single-minded leader, and even the laconic Sutch seemed content to follow Kahl’s orders, riding beside him as they continued North on the trail of Will Jones. Stocks of rum were low, and Kahl took charge of the last few pints, saving it for a time when liquid courage might be beneficial.

Gone was the slow amble of previous days. Now they rode with urgency, trotting most of the way, the yellow dog in the lead, with his inexhaustible energy, and tenacious grip on the scent he was following. Sometimes he left the track, sniffing out places where Will Jones and his men had stopped.

In this way they found the bend on Milliebah Creek where Will Jones and his party had rested. Kahl stopped his own crew for long enough to spell their horses, then pushed on relentlessly across the plains.

When Kahl and his group reached the Brunette Downs homestead, they did not risk entering the area, but stayed out of sight, beyond the outbuildings, circling around until they struck the track to Anthony’s Lagoon.

‘Are we behind them or ahead of them?’ asked Sutch.

Kahl grinned. ‘Look at that yellow dog. He’s on the scent. We’re behind, but not by much. Tonight we don’t stop, we ride until we get to them.’

***

The feeling of refreshment that followed the swim in the creek did not last. It was another oppressive afternoon, with a growing band of black cloud to the north, but no breeze or relief of rain. Not yet. They rode northwards in file, with Will in the lead, then Lainey. The packs and spares trailed from Jim and Lenny in turn.

Will deliberately kept the pace off the boil. If they were to ride forty miles in an afternoon and night, they had to keep the horses watered and not push them too hard. Without Sam, however, nothing felt quite right. His sage words and steady character were reassuring when a fight or violence threatened.

Near dusk they stopped, boiled the billy and cooked a few slabs of beef they’d been given at Brunette, eating them on thick lumps of bread from the same source, using the juices from the pan as gravy, washing it down with tea.

‘You’re missin’ Sam too, ain’t ya?’ Lainey said to Will, who was busy feeding the fattiest portions to Little Blue, who polished off whatever he was given.

‘Yeah, he’s a good fella to have on your side. I aren’t used to bein’ without him. I hope he’s healed up.’

‘Me too,’ she said. ‘You’re right, it ain’t the same without him.’

‘He seemed like a solid man for company,’ said Lenny. ‘An’ I’m sorry he got shot. But at least he was spared trying to outrun Kahl and his mongrel mob in the dark tonight.’

Lainey’s eyes flashed at him, ‘Well at least we knew that he was on our side, unlike certain other people I might name.’

‘Well, I do resent that statement,’ Lenny huffed. ‘Name one disloyal thing I’ve done so far.’

‘How ‘bout sneakin’ around, reading the mail at night?’

‘I explained that,’ said Lenny. ‘I was checkin’ that a certain letter addressed to Rafael Williamson was still there and not ruined.’

‘But you never gave us a good reason why,’ said Lainey.

‘Just leave it now, you two,’ said Will.

‘No, I want to know why bloody Kennedy wants that letter to get through, and Kahl and his mates don’t.’

Lenny tipped the dregs of his tea, from his pint pot into the fire, ‘All I can tell you is that this Williamson feller once did Kennedy a good turn when he was passing through, and they’re kind of mates. Serious Lainey, I’m on your side, I swear.’

Lainey said nothing more, just started to pack up, while Will took the opportunity to check the map before dark, considering their route carefully before sharing his thoughts with the others.

‘We can either stick to the main track, or head west to this place – Adder Waterhole – which is marked on the map. Then we could follow Creswell Creek down to Anthony’s Lagoon,’ he said.

‘Is it any further?’ asked Lainey.

‘Twice as far,’ Will admitted. ‘But if we’re clever where we leave the track, they might not be able to follow us.  That would give us a fighting chance.’

‘If it were daylight, bloke, I’d agree,’ said Jim. ‘But them mongrels behind us know this country, and we don’t. On a dark night like this – we could get bushed or worse. I reckon that keeping to the track is the best plan. We just have to try to outrun them.’

‘I agree,’ said Lainey. ‘It’s gonna be dark as hell. Let’s stick to the track.’

Will folded the map and stowed it away. ‘That’s it then. We’ll keep going.’

As soon as the pan was cool enough to pack, they were on the road again, riding steadily into the thunderstorm. Strangely, it was the near constant flickering of lightning that allowed them to see their path, for the brightest of the stars were obscured.

The plains were an eerie place, riding on into the storm. The black soil clung to hoof and paw, slowing their pace. The packs grew reluctant, which tired Lenny’s horse and slowed them down.

At length, Jim sidled up to Will, ‘I reckon them buggers are close-up behind us now,’ he warned. ‘You want me to go back and look?’

‘Nah,’ said Will, ‘I think we need to stay together now. Let’s keep these nags moving.’

The first drops of rain had started falling, when Will heard a sound from behind.

‘That’ll be them,’ Jim said. ‘We won’t outrun them now, bloke.’

‘What do we do?’ asked Lenny.

‘We ride like fiends … give them a run for their money,’ Will said, again wishing that Sam was with them. He always had a plan. His ideas didn’t work every time, but he never lacked for a course of action.

One of the riders up behind let out a whoop, distant but audible. Will turned, just as a particularly bright flash of lightning lit the plains. Kahl and his mates were just a quarter mile behind them.

 At that time the vegetation on the sides of the track were of spinifex and blue bush, but up ahead there was a stand of coolibah trees, growing in twisted silhouette on either side of the track. Will tried to think whether the change in vegetation offered an opportunity. If they had numbers, they could use the cover to stop and make enough of a stand to put their pursuers off, but with just the four of them, and a brace of horses to look after, it would be tantamount to giving up.

Will berated himself, silently regretting taking on the mail run. Lainey was right. The money wasn’t worth it, not for a one-off like this. Even the clouds seemed to be against them – vast black ships in the sky – wider than any sea. And always, behind them, the sound of horsemen getting closer.

Finally, they reached the trees, and the dark night became darker still, even the flashes of lightning dulled by the foliage. In the gloom Will did not see the deep bog ahead, nor the trail where other travellers had deviated around it. By chance he was riding in the middle of the track, out of the ruts, and thus missed the worst of it.

Lainey and her horse, however, then Lenny, plunged in deep, followed by the lead mare. The shock made her rear up, whinnying, throwing the string into panic also. Jim had time to stop, keeping the spare horses out of trouble.

It was a mess. A muddy terrible mess of frightened, plunging horses and tangled harness. Will dismounted, trusting George to stand his ground, and grabbed the lead mare by the bridle, trying to settle her into a walk, putting pressure on the others. Jim had managed to stop short of the hole, and had also dismounted to help.

Slowly, they pushed, pulled, and harangued the horses out of the mud. Lenny had fallen off his mount and was in little better order than the horses. Swearing and spluttering, covered in ooze from head to toe. They were all muddy now, but he was the worst of them.

‘Mount up,’ urged Will. ‘I can hear their horses now. They’re nearly on us.’

©2025 Greg Barron
Continued next Sunday. Image of Anthony’s Lagoon credit: James Broadbridge Collection State Library of Queensland
You can read this chaper, and previous chapters on the website here: https://www.storiesofoz.com/category/will-jones-and-the-territory-mail/
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