The Country In Its Immediate Neighbourhood Is Open, And Timbered With Fine Casuarina Trees; The Grass Is Dry And Long, And The Triodia Approaches To Within A Quarter Of A Mile Of It.

The line of hills I previously mentioned as running along to the south of us, we had now run out.

I named them Gardiner's Range, after a friend of Mr. Carmichael's. There is, however, one small isolated hill, the furthest outpost of that line, some three miles away to the south-west; the creek may probably take a bend down towards it. I called it Mount Solitary. This creek is rather well timbered, the gum-trees look fresh and young, and there is some green herbage in places, though the surface water has all disappeared.

There was so little water at the camp tank, we had to send the horses up the creek three miles to water, and on their return I was not sorry to be moving again, for our stay at these two last camps had been compulsory, and the anxiety, trouble, and annoyance we had, left no very agreeable reminiscences of the locality in our minds.

We travelled along the creek all day, cutting off the bends, but without seeing any signs of water: towards evening we set to work to try if we could get any by digging. In about four feet, water began to drain in, but, the sand being so loose, we had to remove an enormous quantity to enable a horse to drink. Some of the horses would not go into it, and had to be watered with a canvas bucket. The supply seemed good, but it only drained in from the sides. Every time a horse drank we had to clear out the sand for the next; it therefore took until late before all were satisfied. The country was still open, and timbered with fine black oak, or what is so called in Australia. It is a species of casuarina, of the same family but distinct from the beautiful desert oak. Triodia reigned supreme within half a mile. At this camp the old grass had been burnt, and fresh young green shoots appeared in its place; this was very good for the horses. A few drops of rain fell; distant rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning now cooled the air. While we were at breakfast the next morning, a thunderstorm came up to us from the west, then suddenly turned away, only just sprinkling us, though we could see the rain falling heavily a few yards to the south. We packed up and went off, hoping to find a better watered region at the hills westwards. There was an extraordinary mount a little to the west of north from us; it looked something like a church; it was over twenty miles away: I called it Mount Peculiar. Leaving the creek on our left, to run itself out into some lonely flat or dismal swamp, known only to the wretched inhabitants of this desolate region - over which there seems to brood an unutterable stillness and a dread repose - we struck into sandhill country, rather open, covered with the triodia or spinifex, and timbered with the casuarina or black oak trees. We had scarcely gone two miles when our old thunderstorm came upon us - it had evidently missed us at first, and had now come to look for us - and it rained heavily. The country was so sandy and porous that no water remained on the surface. We travelled on and the storm travelled with us - the ground sucking up every drop that fell. Continuing our course, which was north 67 degrees west, we travelled twenty-five miles. At this distance we came in sight of the mountains I was steering for, but they were too distant to reach before night, so, turning a little northward to the foot of a low, bare, white granite hill, I hoped to find a creek, or at least some ledges in the rocks, where we might get some water. Not a drop was to be found. Though we had been travelling in the rain all day and accomplished thirty miles, we were obliged to camp without water at last. There was good feed for the horses, and, as it was still raining, they could not be very greatly in want of water. We fixed up our tent and retired for the night, the wind blowing furiously, as might reasonably be expected, for it was the eve of the vernal equinox, and this I supposed was our share of the equinoctial gales. We were compelled in the morning to remove the camp, as we had not a drop of water, and unless it descended in sheets the country could not hold it, being all pure red sand. The hill near us had no rocky ledges to catch water, so we made off for the higher mountains for which we were steering yesterday. Their nearest or most eastern point was not more than four miles away, and we went first to it. I walked on ahead of the horses with the shovel, to a small gully I saw with the glasses, having some few eucalypts growing in it. I walked up it, to and over rocky ledges, down which at times, no doubt, small leaping torrents roar. Very little of yesterday's rain had fallen here; but most fortunately I found one small rock reservoir, with just sufficient water for all the horses. There was none either above or below in any other basin, and there were many better-looking places, but all were dry. The water in this one must have stood for some time, yesterday's rain not having affected it in the least. The place at which I found the water was the most difficult for horses to reach; it was almost impracticable. After finding this opportune though awkwardly situated supply, I climbed to the summit of the mount. On the top was a native fig-tree in full bearing; the fruit was ripe and delicious.

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