Poor Satan, my faithful companion in
good times and bad, whose soft velvet nose had so often rubbed my cheek
in friendship, was laid low by the deadly wallflower. In spite of all we
could do for him, in spite of coaxing him yard by yard, Warri and I - as we
had done to Misery before - for a day's march of over fifteen miles, we
were forced to leave him to die. We could not afford to wait a day,
always onward must it be until another water is found, so, with a bullet
through his head, I left him to find his way to the Happy Hunting-grounds
where there are no native wells nor spinifex, only flowing rivers and
groves of quondongs! All this about a camel - "a devil and an ostrich and
an orphan child in one," as we have been told - but remember that often in
the solitary bush one's animals are one's only companions, that on them
one's life depends. How, then, could one fail to love them as friends and
comrades?
Shortly after the scene of Satan's death the mulga clumps became greater
in extent, until for half the day, and more, we wound our way through
dense thickets. The further South we went the thicker they became, until
all day long we marched through scrub, seeing no more than forty yards
ahead, with packs, saddles, and clothes torn to pieces by dead and broken
branches.
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