Eight Miles
Brought Us Into The Region Of The Burning Spinifex And Fresh Tracks;
Despatching Charlie On Satan, And Godfrey And Warri On Foot, To Track Up
And Catch A Native If Possible, I Unloaded The Camels And Awaited
Breaden's Arrival.
Presently he came alone, saying that poor Misery was
done for and could move no further, so he had left him.
I felt sure that
that was the case, since Breaden would not have come without him if there
had been any possibility of getting him further. Nevertheless, I could
not bear to leave my faithful and favourite camel to die by slow degrees,
and returned on Breaden's tracks. I took with me a brandy-bottle full of
Epsom salts and water, for from Breaden's account of his way of going on
I felt sure that poor Misery had eaten some poisonous plant. Four miles
back I found him lying apparently dead in the shade of a tree, or where
the shade would have been had there been any foliage; he knew me and
looked up when I spoke to and patted him, and rested his head in my lap
as I sat down beside him; but no amount of coaxing could get him on his
legs. Having administered the salts, which he evidently enjoyed, I
proceeded to bleed him by slitting his ear; my knife, however, was not
sharp enough, (for everything becomes dulled in this sand) to do the job
properly, and he bled but little. I could do nothing but wait, so taking
a diminutive edition of Thackeray from my pocket, for I had foreseen this
long wait, I read a chapter from "Vanity Fair." Presently I got him on
his legs and he walked for about thirty yards, then down he went in a
heap on the ground; another wait, and more "Vanity Fair." Then on again,
and down again, and so on hour after hour.
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