It Was Now
Time For Us To Interfere Before The White Bull's Head Was Crushed By His
Conqueror's Knees And Breast-Bone.
With sticks and stones we drove him
off, and the white bull retired abashed - but not more so than his master.
Leaving the rocks in possession of our late adversary we once more plunged
into the scrub, altering our course to the west with the object of
revisiting the country around Mount Ida, where Luck and I had found
colours. Our way lay between salt lakes on our left, and a low terrace or
tableland of what is locally known as "conglomerate" on our right. At the
head of a gully running from this we were fortunate in finding water,
sufficient to fill our casks, and give each camel a drink. This was on the
morning of January 25th, and until the 31st about noon we saw no further
signs of water. Every likely place was dry. Where Luck and I had found
water before, not a drop of moisture could be seen; the holes contained
nothing but the feathers and skeletons of disappointed birds. Unable to
stop at Mount Ida without packing water twenty-five miles, which the
prospects of the country did not warrant, we turned northwards across much
broken granite country, which we vainly searched for Namma-holes or soaks.
Far ahead of us we could see sharp pinnacles, standing up high and
solitary above the scrub. These turned out to be huge blows of white
quartz, and were no doubt connected underground, for we traced them a
distance of nearly thirty miles.
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