A Fast Ride to Bathurst

The Adventures of Will Jones by Greg Barron

Three days later, Will was back at work, some twenty miles from home, at a property called Rosewood. The owner, a rich man with strong preferences, had specified sawn timber for the gates, posts and the house yards. That meant digging a saw pit.

The utility of a saw pit was that full-sized logs could be sawn by two men wielding a pit-saw. The ‘top sawyer’, the man working on top, would raise the saw as high as his body would allow, ready for the real work, which was done by the downward stroke. He stood in the clear, with fresh air in his lungs, and guided the saw along the chalk-mark to keep the plank straight.

The man down below, the ‘pit man’ or ‘underdog,’ was subjected to a hell of sawdust, sweat and labour so tough that the body could scarcely endure it – using all his strength and weight to force the saw downwards, with slight forward pressure. On the upward pull of the saw, the pit man had to keep the teeth from engaging, or he would earn a barrage of insults from above.

Will was the youngest, and therefore worked only in the bottom of the pit. He spent an hour at a time down there, the only respite being when he was allowed to clamber out to help set stringlines for the next cut.

They were in the midst of this task, when there was a clatter of hooves on hard dirt, and Will’s father rode up, dismounting before the gelding had fully come to a stop. His eyes fixed on Will. ‘Ha’ yow seen Lainey? Her’s run off.’

Will felt a surge of concern, but shook his head. ‘Nope, I ain’t seen her since I come back ‘ere on Sundy.’

‘Well, can yow come an’ help w’ this? Yer ma is worried sick.’

Will turned to his boss, whose pipe was fixed in his mouth while he held the end of a stringline. ‘Mr Martin, I need to go help find me sister.’

Clarry Martin removed his pipe, let go of the strong line and stamped his foot. ‘I forbid it,’ he said. ‘We’re shorthanded an’ days behind as it is. If everyone went runnin’ around lookin’ for their darn sister we’d be in a real mess.’

Will stood up calmly, brushing saw dust from his dungarees and shirt. ‘Well, I guess I’m goin’ anyhow.’

‘Don’t bother comin’ back then, yer young scamp.’

‘Eh, have a mind how you talk to my boy,’ said Christian. He looked big and dangerous, mounted on his horse. He was, besides, already in a bad temper, his face red and veins standing proud on either side of his neck. Clarry didn’t push it, just removed his pipe, scowled, and kept on with the work.

Will hurried to where his bedroll and saddle were waiting in the shade of a bark lean-to, then went to catch and unhobble Nea, who’d been grazing nearby. When she was saddled and ready, he joined his father on the track.

They rode together, mostly in silence, until they reached the fork with the Bathurst road. Pulling up at that point, Christian turned to Will. ‘I need yow an’ that hoss son, to fetch Lainey back safe and sound. That scamp Luke Phillips be missin’ too. Seems they crept off in the early hours this mornin.’

Will frowned, ‘That’s strange, why would Luke and Lainey both a’ gorn?’

‘Think about it, lad. When a fourteen-year-old lass and an’ a sixteen-year-old lad run off there be only one thing on their minds.’

‘You mean get married? Well, don’t that take a week or two, readin’ the banns and all that guff?’

‘Not at a District Registrar, an’ there’s one in Bathurst. Old Ma Strong up at the store reckons Lainey was askin’ where the office was yesterday. I need you to ride like the wind, lad. This ol’ gelding will never make it, but that mare a’ yow’s ‘as a chance. Yow ‘ave to ride fer Bathurst an’ stop ‘em.’

‘Now?’

‘My oath yes.’ He fumbled in his pocket for a carefully folded pound note. ‘This should see yow there an’ back again.’

‘Orright,’ said Will. ‘I’ll do me best.’ He nudged his mare into action, turning her onto the track. Then he paused again and turned his head. ‘Oi Pa, where is this registrar place?’

‘On George Street, in t’main square.’

‘I’ll be off then,’ he said, and growled to the horse. ‘Yah, get up, you.’

‘Go with God,’ Christian yelled after the fast-disappearing horse and rider.

Nea had been rested for a day or two, and was keen for a run. For a quarter hour Will kept her at the canter, until the sweat ran warm on her neck. At that point he stopped to tighten the girth, then resumed at a trot.

While Will rode, he was thinking how strange Lainey was. First, she wanted to be a bushranger, then a few days later she wanted to get hitched. It made no sense to him. And Luke … yes, he was a well-put-together bloke, and a competent sort, but hardly interesting enough to tame Lainey.

For the next six hours Will alternated the pace, bringing the mare back to a walk when she needed it, and stopping for water at streams or the occasional public trough. In the evening he paused at a shanty for a plate of roast mutton, spuds and peas, and rode on, relying on starlight only, slowing to a walk when the trees closed in. Later he grew so tired that he had to make camp, roll out his swag and sleep. By the time he woke there was a heavy dew on the ground, and the first pulse of dawn was in the sky.

Will rode into the town of Bathurst just as the bells of the All Saints church tolled nine in the morning. It was a year or two since he had been here, and he admired the broad streets, busy with wagons loaded with ore or goods; strolling businessmen in suits and parading women, holding parasols in defense against the early morning sun.  

After a quick search Will spotted the District Registrar’s office. He dismounted and led Nea to a hitching post outside, then pushed open the door. A bell rattled musically as he entered. The man behind the counter wore a monocle hanging from a chain.

‘Mornin’,’ said Will.

‘Morning. How may I assist you, young man?’

‘I’m lookin’ for me sister. She’s kind of tall with curly fair hair. You ain’t seen her have ya?’

The registrar furrowed his brow with thought, then consulted a paper form a collection on his bench. ‘Was her name Elaine Jones?’

‘That’s her.’

‘Why, I just married her and a Mr Luke Phillips yesterday evening.’

‘Jesus Christ, that aren’t good news. Where are they now?’

‘Well, I believe they spent the night up at the Royal Hotel on William Street.’

Will left the office, mounted up and rode up to the corner, turning into the main street. He didn’t have to waste any effort finding Lainey, because she was out the front of the hotel with Luke, climbing up into a sulky while he strapped a leather trunk down at the back.

She saw him coming and grinned. ‘See Luke, I told you me brother’d turn up.’

‘Jesus Lainey, what’ve you done?’

She held out her hand, palm downward, showing off a plain gold band on her ring finger. ‘You can call me Missus Phillips,’ she said.

Luke walked around the front of the sulky, and looked bullishly up at Will, who was still on horseback. ‘You’re too late to stop us, Will. Our union’s been consummated now so there’s nothin’ anyone can do.’

Will stared, he wasn’t familiar with the word consummated, and as the realisation dawned on him of what it must mean, red heat rose up in his cheeks, then his ears.

He switched his gaze to Lainey. ‘Ma and Pa are gonna kill you.’

Lainey shrugged, ‘I don’t care. They can’t take me to England, an’ some fancy girl’s school now,’ she said. ‘Not when I’m a married woman.’

Will saw nothing for it but to wait while they finished loading and set off to ride beside them. It seemed easier to let Lainey arrive home and explain things for herself than to race on ahead and bring it all on himself.

© 2026 Greg Barron

Photo courtesy National Library of Australia. Main street of Bathurst 1870.

You can read earlier chapters here: https://storiesofoz.com/category/the-adventures-of-will-jones/

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