The Melbourne sun was struggling skywards through a soup of coal and wood smoke, mingled with fog rising from the River Yarra. Edward Bartlett had been lying awake since the clocktower at the GPO, almost a mile away, had chimed three o’clock in the morning. The lack of news had run his nerves ragged. Lucy was lying with her face turned away. She had scarcely spoken to him since yesterday, when he had been forced to let all the servants go but Mary, the housemaid.
Even worse, today was Friday, and this evening would mark the expiry of the seventy-two hours Edward had promised to Jonathan Coombs. He expected another, less cordial visit this evening – unless, by some miracle, news came from Kahl that he had found and destroyed the letter. He might also be able to stall them by raising the possibility that even if Rafe Williamson had taken possession of that missive, he would not get it to Palmerston in time to satisfy the court – Monday at nine am – a near impossible ride from the Northern Barkly.
Lack of control over the situation galled Edward most of all. If he had the funds, he would already have taken passage north to settle the matter himself. It was strange, he decided, how rapidly a man could go from comfort to poverty. Today his tobacco pouch would be empty, and even the lowest storekeeper seemed to know that he was no longer worthy of credit.
Edward tried not to think of the consequences if the letter was not found and destroyed. It would certainly mean the loss of his family home. Howard Coombes’s anger worried him almost as much – an anger that would have physical consequences. He had managed to placate him, several times, but not enough.
***
Luke, meanwhile, seeing Kahl holding a revolver to Lainey’s head, had entered a state sometimes known as a berserker rage. His eyes became huge and bloodshot – and his hands opened and closed with the desire to wreak damage on his target. The berserk fighter came into being when anger and hatred of an opponent, along with fatigue, led to a fearless and near unstoppable fighting spirit. It was also a state, Luke reasoned later, when time slowed down, giving him ample time to act, while others had to contend with seconds and minutes of the usual length.
At that moment he feared nothing, but merely looked around for the means to end the fortunes of Lainey’s captor. It had to be quick, taking the gunman out before he could shoot poor Lainey.
His eyes fell on a stirrup iron, torn loose in Kahl’s fall from his horse. Fast as a cat, Luke scooped it up by the strap, ran forward and swung it with the speed of a stockwhip, but with twenty times the weight.
Wielded with all the force of his work-honed arms, it struck the scarred man on the side of his head, and felled him as effectively as a bullet, forcing him to let go of both Lainey, and his firearm. Not content with that effort, Luke was on him in a moment, kneeling into the small of his back and delivering an even harder blow from close range.
As if realising what he had done, still holding the bloody stirrup, Luke came to his feet and stared down at his victim. Lainey flung both arms around his waist.
‘You flamin’ well saved me,’ she said. ‘An’ yer’ve kilt the barsted dead.’
Will, arriving just then, leaned down and laid a finger on Kahl’s neck. ‘Ya kilt him alright, and a good job too.’
***
With no shovel at hand, they gathered rocks and built a cairn. In this way, they laid the scarred man to rest, and Luke, more settled now, murmured the Lord’s prayer and expressed the hope that Kahl might find a conscience in the afterlife, and make reparations for the things he’d done on Earth. This, he said, was the first man he had ever knowingly killed, and he felt some responsibility for his soul.
Finding an accessible route to the top of the hill, they spent an hour in the bowl where Kahl had scattered the mail, reorganising and repacking with care.
Lainey sat in the shade, watching, drinking, smoking and eating the few rations they had brought. After a while she started to recover her usual mood. ‘Rafe’s letter ain’t here,’ she said.
Will paused in the act of repacking mail bags and turned to her sharply, ‘What d’ya mean?’
‘Just what I said. The darned letter that Rafe needs has up an’ gone somewhere. Kahl went through that mail five times.’
‘We can’t ‘ave lost it,’ said Will.
Lainey shrugged, ‘Well we dunno where it is, do we?’
***
It was mid-morning before they were able to cross Creswell Creek and head back towards the Gully where Rafe and Matt were still waiting. It was a slow trip, sometimes napping in the saddle, and they were often silent with their own thoughts.
They arrived back at the camp near the gully to the sound of camel bells, and the shapes of the hump backed creatures spread along the gully. Will was pleased to see the tall, slender form of Mahomet, along with his wife Jannat, young Afsana and his brothers and sisters. Will guessed that they had arrived that morning and gone into camp.
The Balochi family’s tents were pitched neatly along the clearing. The smell of fresh coffee and cooked, spiced meat wafted in from the fireside. Will damn near fell from the saddle with the strength of it. Rafe and Matt were near the fire, standing as they came in.
After tethering his horse, however, Will’s first act was to untie Little Blue from the shady bush where he had been fastened. His wounds from the dog fight had stiffened him up, but he licked Will comprehensively, then sat close to him as they moved to the fireside, drank and ate, then shared the news.
Mahomet first assured them that Sam was being cared for at Alexandria Station. The situation was precarious – he was passing copious blood and an infection had taken hold.
‘But we have all been praying for him,’ said Mahomet gravely.
After a long and worried silence, the Balochi related how he and his family had arrived in time to help bury two members of the outlaw gang who had died in the fracas. Will, in turn, related the death of Kahl, Luke’s heroism and Lainey’s close escape.
‘So, I take it that you’ve got my letter?’ asked Rafe.
Will looked at the ground, and shook his head sadly. ‘We can’t find the damned thing,’ he said. ‘We just dunno what happened.’
‘Oh Jesus,’ said Rafe, standing up and pacing around. ‘So it’s fallen out and is prob’ly sitting on some bloody lonely part of the track – it might take weeks to find it – if ever at all. I’m sunk – truly I am.’
‘I guess I aren’t cut out to be a mailman,’ said Will.
Lainey shot him a poisonous look. ‘I told you that right at the start of this damn fool caper.’
‘So, what’s it mean, exactly?’ said Matt.
‘It means,’ sighed Rafe, ‘that on Monday the court will grant that the pre-probate sale of the property is valid, and I’ll be out on my bloody ear. You too.’
Lainey, who had revived further with a serve of Mahomet’s flat bread filled with spiced camel meat, said, ‘Wait a minute, I’ve got an idea. Where did you barsteds bury old Lenny?’
Luke pointed along the gully a little. ‘Just down there. Why?’
‘Did you check ‘is pockets before you chucked dirt on ‘im?’
Luke looked at Rafe, and then at Matt, and shook his head. ‘Nah, I can’t say that we did.’
‘Well, he was foolin’ with the mail when I came back to camp last night. I wonder if he grabbed it?’
‘Where’s the bloody shovel?’ said Will.
They walked to the grave as a group, and Will started to dig. They were only a few spadefuls in before the toe of Lenny’s boots appeared.
‘Hell,’ said Lainey. ‘I hope you barsteds aren’t the ones who bury me. The goannas would barely have to scratch a hole to eat his toes.’
They lifted him out, already starting to smell, and it was Will who bent down and went through his pockets. He found a locket, one of those silver ones that opens, and then, shoved down the front of his pants was the letter. Will passed it to Rafe, who opened and unfolded it.
‘Jesus Christ, this is it,’ he cried.
‘Have you still got time to ride to Palmerston?’
‘By Jove and the bloody saints I’ll try, but I’ve got to leave now. Matt, will you head back to the station and tell them what’s going on?’
‘’Course boss. You just get up there and save the place.’
Lainey turned to Will. ‘What about us?’
He sighed deeply, ‘We’ll take a day to sort things out and rest. Then we need to finish the run to the Macarthur, then pick Sam up on the way back south to Camooweal – if he’s healed up.’ He looked up at the sky, as if searching for a higher power to consecrate an oath. ‘After that, I swear I’ll never so much as touch a mailbag for the rest of me miserable life, be damned if I will.’
©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/
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