The prize-fighting gent, however, became
too bumptious, and was eventually hustled out of the place.
Our camp at Lake Darlot was rather pleasantly situated on rising ground by
the side of the blow; behind us, sheer cliffs of conglomerate, worn and
weathered into queer little caves, the floors of which were covered inches
deep by the droppings of bats and small wallabies; and, stretching away
to the South, an open plain enclosed in an endless sea of scrub. Every
morning we witnessed the strange phenomenon of a lake appearing in the sky
to the South, miles away, above the scrub, a lake surrounded by steep
white cliffs. This mirage would last perhaps half an hour, and was, I
suppose, a reflection of Lake Darlot, which lay at the back of us, some
five miles distant to the North.
Our camp consisted of the usual tents and bough-shades and for the first,
and probably the only, time in our lives we cooked our pots on a golden
fireplace. To protect the fire from the wind, so that a good pile of ashes
should collect for baking purposes, we had made a semicircular wall of
stones. The nearest available stones, quartz boulders from the blow, were
used, and so it came about that we had a gold-studded fireplace! We used
to have a curious visitor from the caves - a small black cat, which was
tame enough to wander between our legs as we sat round the fire, but too
wary to be caught.
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