Where
could it be? Was it worth while to look for it further? It was evident how
it came to be so shown on the map. Mr. Wells had cut the creek near its
source and seeing only one lake to the south, naturally supposed that
it was joined by the creek, and so had marked its probable course by a
dotted line. His work, copied on to other maps had been carelessly drawn,
and the creek shown running in a defined channel into Lake Darlot. That
this was the case I found afterwards on studying his original chart.
Now to decide our best course! Again our supply was all but done, but we
knew of no water save Lawlers, sixty miles away, and to attempt to return
to that, recrossing the lake was manifestly absurd. To the south-west we
could see some hills which might or might not be granite. We were inclined
to think that they were, as in the setting sun of a few nights before they
had taken a ruddy glow. These rocks appeared to be our only chance.
It has always seemed to me better in such cases to make people follow
one's own wishes by seeming to consult theirs, rather than by a direct
order. Acting on this plan, though with my own mind made up, I consulted
with my two mates. I felt sure that Jim would agree with me, from a remark
he had made to a mutual friend to the effect that "he would follow me to
h - l." Of paddy I was not so sure; nor was I mistaken. He strongly
advised turning back, but, having agreed to abide by the majority, said no
more, and so to the hills we turned our steps.
Our hopes that the two lakes were separate were soon shattered, for before
us lay a narrow neck connecting the two. There was nothing for it but to
go straight ahead. The lightest-packed camel crossed without mischance,
but not so the other two; down they went, too weak to struggle, and again
the toil of digging them out, and driving and hauling them foot by foot,
had to be gone through. Then the packs had to be carried piece by piece,
for we sank too deep in the sticky mud with a heavy load, and our weary
legs had to be dragged step after step from the bog. Hungry and thirsty,
blistered by the glare of the salt in the pitiless sun, we struggled on,
with a wondering thought of what the end would be.
Think of us, picture us, ye city magnates, toiling and struggling that
your capacious pockets may be filled by the fruits of our labour:
