Chapter Twenty-one – Comrades

The nightjar was smaller than an owl, beautifully spotted and mottled with grey, black, brown, and white. All day he’d laid up on the ground, between gidgee trees along a gully, partly burrowed in leaf litter, immobile, and almost invisible.  

After dusk he crept from his hiding place, flapped to the nearest perch to gather himself and wait. He came alive, his heart beating faster now, breathing the cooler night air, listening as the dark plains came alive with insect life. His eyes were huge and reflective, able to see in the blackness, even without the flickering lightning.

His favourite hunting place was nearby – the broad, clear dirt of the white men’s track – the perfect ground from which to watch for crickets and moths. He was rarely bothered by traffic, for humans seldom travelled at night, especially now, in the rainy season.

Soon, without hurry, he winged his way out of the gully, stopping on the track beside a camping place much used by passing traffic, and their teams of horses or bullocks, their droving plant and wagonettes. The clearing was flat, marked with charcoal from old camp fires, and was bare of vegetation.

The nightjar was patient. Minutes passed before a centipede appeared at the edge of the track, and began to crawl its way across, antennas waving. It was best, the bird had discovered, to let these slow-moving creatures get well into the clear to allow them no chance of escaping.

This was a big one, as thick, wide and long as a coolabah leaf. His progress was slow; one yard, then a little more. Still the nightjar waited, fully immobile. He began to anticipate the juicy crunch of the insect’s body. Something sparked in his eyes as he prepared to launch.

At that moment, however, there came the sound of hooves and voices out of the north. Men were approaching. They were soon in view, and the nightjar was too wary and smart to take risks.

Leaving the tasty snack to its journey, the nightjar hopped and extended his wings into flight at the same moment, flying like a darker shadow among shadows, down into the gully where he perched on a branch. Far enough away to be safe.  There, he decided, he would wait for the men to leave.

***

The rain had fallen hard for an hour, before the cloud band moved on, leaving Rafe and the young ringer, Matt, soaked. It had seemed pointless to stop while it was bucketing down – their sleeping gear was protected with oilskins, and they both wore felt hats and drizabone jackets.

‘Looks like that damned rain’s stopped,’ said Rafe. ‘Here’s a clearing, so the best thing would be to get into camp and dry out in front of a fire. That damned mailman can’t be too much further ahead, damn his eyes for being so slow. Surely we’ll find him in the morning.’

They untacked, hobbled and belled the horses, then gathered dry wood from close to the trunks of the trees at the top bank of the gully. They soon had a good blaze burning, and sat on folded saddle blankets in front of the flames. Their tucker had been replenished at Anthony’s Lagoon, and Rafe made johnny cakes, with plenty of treacle to sweeten them.

They were halfway through the meal when there was the gentle – not hurried – sound of hooves and harness from up the track, the same way in which they had come.

Rafe laid his tin plate down, stood and reached for his revolver. Visitors at night were treated suspiciously until proven otherwise. This one, however, made his approach known.

‘Hullo you fellows,’ called the newcomer from a distance, warning them of his approach. ‘I’m alone and riding in.’

Rafe and Matt were both standing, watching, as the visitor rode in to the firelight and dismounted. He was a tall fellow, with one of those heavy jaws you could smash bottles on.

‘Hello there,’ said the rider. ‘I was just thinkin’ about makin’ camp meself when I saw your fire. It’s been a lonely track, so I thought I’d say g’day.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Rafe. ‘What’s your name, mate?’

‘Luke.’

‘Well met. I’m Rafe and this is Matt. We’ll give you a hand with your horse and gear, and there’s plenty of room at the fire.’

When the new man was settled, the three of them talked for a while of the weather, how they’d fared in the storm, and their travels to that point.

‘I sailed into the Roper on a Burns and Philp ketch,’ said Luke. ‘I was damn near speared on the ride down the Gulf, and would have been if I’d moved a bit slower. A wild trip it’s been to this point, and to be honest, a pointless one.’

Rafe, feeling sorry for the man, put the last of their dough onto the coals, and when it was baked, placed the cakes on a tin plate for the stranger. When he’d finished eating, Luke levelled the score by producing a bottle of rum and sharing it around.

‘What’s your business here?’ asked Rafe. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘Well to be honest,’ said Luke, ‘I’m lookin’ for me wife, her name’s Elaine. Lainey, everyone calls her. You haven’t come across her, have you?’

Rafe shook his head, ‘I haven’t seen a white woman since I was last up at the Elsey.’ A thought occurred to him, and he picked his words carefully, not wanting to insult his new companion. ‘Am I right in guessing that she ran off with another fella?’

‘No, that’s not it. She likes to ride with her brother, Will, who’s a little wide of the law, an’ seems to like just pokin’ about the country. It’s been almost a year since I seen her last, and I travelled up here to see if she’s ready to come home to me, an’ be my wife like I want her to be. That ain’t much to ask, is it?’

Rafe snapped his fingers. ‘Her brother’s last name ain’t Jones, is it? Will Jones?’

Luke’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened with interest. ‘Bloody hell mate. That’s him, how did ya know?’

‘Because I’m chasing the bastard, pardon me, your brother-in-law. I’m waiting for some important mail, and when I rode to Anthony’s Lagoon, I learned that the regular Territory mailman – a fella named Tom Maconsh – is laid up. Will Jones and um, your wife and their mates have taken on the run.’

‘Jesus,’ Luke Phillips’s face turned pale. ‘How important is this document you’re waitin’ for?’

‘It means everything to me. If I don’t get it, well I’m buggered.’

‘Sounds like there’s an interesting yarn to tell,’ encouraged Luke.

‘Well, it’s simple enough. When I was a younger fool than I am now, and out here adventuring, the chance came to take up a pastoral lease. I didn’t have enough in the way of funds, so I asked my Aunt Beatrice to stake me.’

‘Go on,’ said Luke.

‘Well, she did. But that was fifteen year ago, and she was still young then. We never thought about what might happen if she died. My cousin – her son Reggie – is a useless bastard – a gambler who wastes everything he gets his hands on, including his own miserable life. To stop Reggie from getting the station, a few days before Aunt Beatrice died, she sent me a letter, with copies of the leases and a legal document making the station over to me, but the mail was delayed, and my cousin Reggie, expecting to inherit, made a deal to sell the property, pre-probate, to the blood suckers who bought up the neighbouring properties. At a fraction of the real value, I might add.’

Luke shook his head with amazement, taking a good swig of the rum before passing it on. ‘Jesus, how big is this place?’

‘Oh, around ten thousand square miles, and I’ve poured every bloody cent back into the place. It’s everything I own, and I love it dearly. I applied to the court up in Palmerston to stop the pre-probate deal from going through and I’ve got four more days to provide evidence. That’s why I’m out here chasing the bloody mailman … I mean your brother-in-law. Even if I get my hands on that letter right now, I’ll have to ride day and night to reach Palmerston before the deadline.’

Luke exhaled slowly. ‘Well wanting my wife back don’t seem like much compared to that, but you know … life just ain’t the same without her. She’s wild and crazy and there’s never a dull moment with her, but I reckon she’ll be one hell of a mother when I finally convince her to give it a try—’

His voice trailed off, for they all heard the sound of a gunshot from the south. The insects fell silent, and a bird flew off from the trees nearby.

‘That ain’t bloody thunder,’ said Rafe.

‘No way it ain’t,’ agreed Luke.

Soon after came the faint but unmistakeable sound of galloping hooves from the south. The next gunshot was closer.

‘Jesus Christ,’ breathed Matt. ‘What do we do?’

‘I dunno,’ said Luke, ‘but I’ll feel better with a rifle in me hands.’

They scrambled for weapons. All three had good rifles. Luke’s was a Henry repeater, while the others had Winchesters. Rafe and Luke had both unbuckled their gunbelts, and left them on their saddles. They hurried to fasten these around their waists.

Meanwhile, Matt chucked much of the spare wood they had gathered onto the fire, so the flames lit the immediate area. The sound of horses became louder and closer, soon joined by shouts and yells.

The three men walked to the track, checked their loads and stood three abreast on the surface, rifles across their chests, right forefingers on the triggers.

‘You much of a shot with that carbine?’ Rafe asked Luke.

‘Pretty fair,’ said Luke. ‘Lainey can outshoot me, but I would say she could do that for most men. What about you?’

‘Oh, I’m nothin’ flash, but I can generally hit most things I aim at. Matt here though, he’s a real good shot.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Matt humbly, but there was a quiet confidence in the way he handled the firearm.

‘Young eyes and steady hands,’ said Luke.

By then Rafe could feel the drumming of hooves through the ground, and the sounds changed as the leading horses entered the trees surrounding the gully. Then there was a sloshing sound as they crossed whatever creek was running through. Much closer now.

‘Here they come,’ said Luke.

They came into the firelight. Four riders and a good number of horses. Even in the firelight it was obvious that they were beyond fatigue, horses and riders alike coated with sweat and the horses’ eyes were wide with fear at what was both ahead and behind. The string of packs were spent, ragged with fear, and anyone who knew horses could see that the whole show was verging on collapse.

In the lead was Will Jones, who must have seen them, for he slowed down a tad, then stopped. Beside him, his eyes reflecting in the firelight, was Little Blue, moving crabwise to catch the scent of the strangers.

‘Who the hell are you?’ roared Will. ‘Get off the damned road before we run you down.’

Then there was another yell. It was Luke. ‘Elaine,’ he cried, ‘what on bloody earth is goin’ on?’

‘Luke?’ cried Lainey. ‘What in blazes are you doin’ here?’

Will looked confused, and his horse couldn’t read his signals, making strange hops forward, back and sideways, fighting with his own instinct for flight.

‘Are you the mailman?’ yelled Rafe.

‘I am. There’s a dozen lowlife cows just behind us. They’re after some damned letter.’

‘That’s my letter.’ Rafe growled, ‘Get those packs over here and safe amongst the trees. You’ve got three more staunch men now – a match for any number of thieves and killers. We’ll stand here and teach these bandicoots a lesson they’ll never forget.’

Jim had already read the situation, leading the packs away behind the clearing, and calling Little Blue to guard their gear.

In two minutes flat, Will, Lainey, Jim and Lenny were dismounted, armed, and standing beside the others on the track. Seven well-armed and angry fighters.

Again, they heard voices, war whoops, and the sound of horses crossing the creek. When the outlaws saw the fire leaping high, however, they began to slow. Wary of what was ahead.

‘Do we aim for their horses?’ asked Matt.

‘No mate,’ growled Will. ‘I’ve got no beef with their animals, only the two-legged bastards on their backs. Time for them to get what’s comin’.

A moment later the first gunshot broke the silence.

©2025 Greg Barron
Continued next Sunday.
You can read this chapter, and previous chapters on the website here: https://www.storiesofoz.com/category/will-jones-and-the-territory-mail/
Get previous Will Jones books, Will Jones and the Dead Man’s Letter, and Will Jones and the Blue Dog, here: https://ozbookstore.com/