The Scarred Man – Chapter Twenty-three

Lenny returned to camp as Will had asked him to do. He was puffing a little, as he walked to the campfire, slinging his rifle on the way. Spotting a half full bottle of rum sitting on the dust, he took a very long pull, wiped his lips and threw more sticks on the fire. The blaze leapt high in response.

Still standing, he looked around, his eyes lighting on where the horses were tethered, towards the gully, amongst the closest of the trees. It wasn’t often that Lenny had an opportunity. Whichever way he looked at it, he’d been given one now, and he told himself that he’d be a fool not to take it.

Little Blue was there, on the edge of the firelight, watching him. The dog had his hackles up – whether at the man or something else Lenny did not know.

‘Good boy,’ Lenny said. ‘You and me ‘ave got no quarrel.’

He strode towards the horses, which were still saddled, and the packhorses fully laden. He should have started to unburden them, but instead he released the buckle on one of the panniers and started to delve inside, into the mail, feeling the envelopes between his fingers.

He heard a growl and looked back. Little Blue had followed him, and was baring his teeth.

‘It’s alright, boy, I only need one thing here.’

 Lenny went back to delving in the pannier, but Little Blue growled again, more urgently now. There was a series of gunshots out in the night, and more muzzle flashes.

‘They’re into it now,’ muttered Lenny, though the sounds of battle told him that he still had time.

Lenny thrust his right hand deep in the saddle bags, feeling for the item he sought, pulling some out and holding them up to the light. He worked quickly. Found what he wanted. Had a moment of exhilaration … and fear at what he was about to do.

He didn’t see Lainey coming. She came striding out of the night, holding her left forearm.

‘What the bloody hell are you up to?’ she asked.

Lenny emptied his hands and turned hurriedly, a shot of guilty adrenalin jolting his heart. ‘Nothin’. I was just gonna start getting these packs off when a buckle come undone. I’m trying to bloody fix it.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ said Lainey. ‘I’ve never trusted you as far as I could kick ya. You’re tryin’ to find that bloody letter an’ get what you can out of it. I’ve read you like a blasted book since the day I laid eyes on you.’

‘That’s unfair …’ he stopped when another series of gunshots split the night. He tried to envisage what was happening – both sides, it seemed, were putting up a fight.

He left the packs behind and walked towards the firelight. Lainey followed, and it was only then, when he turned, that he saw her wound – how she held one arm with the other hand. Both were painted red with blood, and it dripped from her fingertips.

‘Bloody hell Lainey,’ he said. ‘You’re hurt.’

Her voice went weak, ‘Just a graze, but you can help me bind it up, it stings like blazes. I need to go back and help the boys.’

 Lenny inspected the wound as best he could. ‘Get over into the light near the fire, and I’ll fetch the iodine.’

He headed back to another pack, rummaged for the bottle and a clean old shirt, then went to her. She was pale and shaking as he dripped the dark liquid into the bloody channel, then tore off strips of cloth and bound up the arm.

Little Blue growled again. This time it was not directed at Lenny, but at something out in the trees. He came and sat down beside Lainey, his weight pressing against her leg. His every muscle was stretched tight, and each breath was a half-whine, half-growl.

‘What’s up boy?’ she asked.

Little Blue left her side, and crept towards the trees with slow, deliberate steps, growling in earnest now, his hackles fully up and ears pricked.

‘There’s something out there,’ said Lenny. He fastened the cloth bandage with a final tidy knot, then started to unsling his rifle.

At that moment the yellow dog came out of the shelter of the trees, emboldened by a larger shadow that Lenny and Lainey had not yet seen. Little Blue could no longer restrain himself, but rushed forward to meet his attacker. In an instant the pair of dogs were a snapping ball of fury, blood and flying spittle. The growling barks of the pair melded into a single terrible sound.

For many days the yellow dog had walked with the scent of the blue dog in his nostrils. Hating and knowing it as the smell of an enemy. There could be only one outcome of this conflict.

This was no casual fight, but a bout to the death.

‘Hell,’ Lainey said, running towards them, ‘Get out of it, Blue.’

***

The scarred man, Kahl had been hanging back in the edge of the gully, using trees for cover, then lurking in the darkness behind the firelight. He was wounded, a bullet had struck his rifle, wrecking the action, then deflected into his left thigh, and there was no exit wound. Blood trickled down from the grossly swollen puncture.  

Kahl had jettisoned the damaged rifle, but he still had his revolver. Even better, he could see the pack horses and their burdens. Will Jones had not burned the mail. It was here, and there was still time to snatch the prize.

He saw Kennedy’s man from Camooweal come back from the fray, then the injured woman. Watching them intently, he left the trees, staying in the darkness, circling the camp. Each step was painful, but he was driven by anger, hatred, and lust for the money that finishing this job would deliver to him.

The moment when the yellow dog went in for the attack came with perfect timing, for the woman and man now both had their backs turned.

Judging his moment, Kahl came in at a run so painful that he could scarcely help crying out, then whipped an arm around Lainey’s neck, and drilled the barrel of his revolver into her temple.

‘Drop the rifle, now, or I swear you won’t draw another breath,’ Kahl cried.

Lenny did as he was told, and Lainey rolled her eyes upwards to look at Kahl’s face. She said, ‘You, ya barsted. I shoulda known you’d be skulking around instead a fightin’ with yer mates.’

 Kahl ignored her words, just drilled the muzzle of his revolver harder into her skull and glared at Lenny. ‘Get me two horses. The buckskin and the other stallion. And the mail packs in a string.’

The dog fight was still going, both combatants marked and bloody now. Little Blue, knowing that there was a greater danger now, tried to disengage, but the yellow dog was after him in an instant, slashing at him with those needle teeth, and he was forced to turn and defend himself.

 The horses were still saddled, and Lenny led the two stallions over by the reins. Holding the revolver close, Kahl forced Lainey to mount up. Then he climbed on the buckskin, and waited while Lenny brought the packs, the lead mare walking obediently despite having had little rest and no water.

‘I ain’t a bad fella, Lainey, an’ I’m on your side,’ called Lenny. ‘We’ll come after you, I promise.’

Kahl turned almost nonchalantly, extended his arm and fired once. The slug took Lenny in the middle of his forehead. He slumped to the ground, still staring with wide open eyes.

Lainey cried out, ‘That’s bloody murder.’

‘Start riding,’ he growled at Lainey. ‘You’re my insurance in case there’s any of your mates left alive to come after me.’

***

The outlaws made something of a stand in the gully, near the creek that was swollen with rain, surrounded by boggy mud, and cloaked in darkness.

Will had no intention of letting the gang get comfortable, but continued to advance, with Luke, Matt, and Rafe at his side. They fired at anything that moved, their booming weapons adding authority to their march.

A final, spirited resistance was hard to dislodge, but at last there came the sound of tinkling harness, then of galloping men and horses, back through the water and up the other side.

‘They’re clearing out,’ said Luke.

‘Let’s make sure they are,’ replied Will.

They passed a body down near the creek and waded through the swiftly flowing water, up the far side of the gully and into the starlight. From the very lip they watched the horsemen riding away to the south, now a quarter mile distant. It was impossible to count or make out individual riders, but it was obvious that their numbers had been depleted.

‘Do you think they’ll come back now?’ asked Matt.

‘I doubt it,’ said Will. ‘That mob are prob’ly used to easier targets than the likes of us. Let’s head back, I want to see how that arm of Lainey’s is getting on.’

They moved back through the gully, and stopped to examine the body at the bottom. Rafe lit a match, and they rolled him over.

‘We’ll bury him in the morning,’ said Will.

They had just resumed the uphill walk when they heard the gunshot, just one, somewhat muffled from up towards the camp.

‘Hell, what’s goin’ on back up there?’ said Will, and he broke into a run. Jim kept pace beside him and the others were not far behind. It seemed like a long way, back to camp, and they arrived, panting from the run.

The firelight was dying down by then, but a sliver of moon was rising, strangely red over the plains.

They found Little Blue sitting up, his face a mask of blood, next to the body of a second dog. Will squatted next to Blue, examining the cuts on his muzzle, forelegs and a bad one near his eye.

‘Jesus boy, what on earth has gone on here?’

‘Over here, bloke,’ Jim gasped from nearby. ‘Poor Lenny’s dead, an’ most of the horses are gone.’

‘Where the hell is my Elaine?’ wailed Luke. ‘Jesus, has she been taken? Tell me it ain’t so.’

Will lifted his dog in his arms and walked to where Joe was examining the prone body of Lenny.

‘Poor barsted,’ said Will.

‘The packs are gone, bloke. They’ve got the mail. Was it Kahl, do yer think?’

‘I reckon it must be. ‘An’ looks like he’s got Lainey with him.’

They were all standing around the body by then, and Rafe’s face was a mask of fury. ‘So now this Kahl mongrel has got my damned letter?’ he spat.

‘Hell mate,’ retorted Luke. ‘He’s got my bloody wife.’

Will knew that he had to make decisions. They needed to organise, reload, prepare and follow, but the smell of death and hurt was in his nostrils, and the weight of the situation he had led these people into damn near pushed him to the ground. He reached deep inside himself, to see what was there. It took a while, but then it came back to the surface, a clenched fist, hard with bone and sinew, from the very pit of his soul.

©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/