CHAPTER 2.1.  FROM THE 4TH TO THE 22ND AUGUST, 1873.

Leave for the west. 
Ascend the Alberga. 
An old building. 
Rain, thunder, and lightning. 
Leave Alberga for the north-west. 
Drenched in the night. 
Two lords of the soil. 
Get their conge. 
Water-holes. 
Pretty amphitheatre. 
Scrubs on either side. 
Watering the horses. 
A row of saplings. 
Spinifex and poplars. 
Dig a tank. 
Hot wind. 
A broken limb. 
Higher hills. 
Flat-topped hills. 
Singular cones. 
Better country. 
A horse staked. 
Bluff-faced hills. 
The Anthony Range. 
Cool nights. 
Tent-shaped hills. 
Fantastic mounds. 
Romantic valley. 
Picturesque scene. 
A gum creek. 
Beautiful country. 
Gusts of fragrance. 
New and independent hills. 
Large creek. 
Native well. 
Jimmy’s report. 
The Krichauff. 
Cold nights. 
Shooting blacks. 
Labor omnia vincit. 
Thermometer 28 degrees. 
Dense scrubs. 
Small creek. 
Native pheasant’s nest. 
Beautiful open ground. 
Charming view. 
Rocks piled on rocks.

On Monday, the 4th August, 1873, my new expedition, under very favourable circumstances, started from Ross’s Water-hole in the Alberga.  The country through which the Alberga here runs is mostly open and stony, but good country for stock of all kinds.  The road and the telegraph line are here thirteen miles apart.  At that distance up the creek, nearly west, we reached it.  The frame of an old building was convenient for turning into a house, with a tarpaulin for a roof, as there appeared a likelihood of more rain.  Some water was got in a clay-pan in the neighbourhood.

A misty and cloudy morning warned us to keep under canvas:  rain fell at intervals during the day, and at sundown heavy thunder and bright lightning came from the north-west, with a closing good smart shower.  The next morning was fine and clear, though the night had been extremely cold.  The bed of this creek proved broad but ill-defined, and cut up into numerous channels.  Farther along the creek a more scrubby region was found; the soil was soft after the rain, but no water was seen lying about.  The creek seemed to be getting smaller; I did not like its appearance very much, so struck away north-west.  The country now was all thick mulga scrub and grassy sandhills; amongst these we found a clay-pan with some water in it.  At night we were still in the scrub, without water, but we were not destined to leave it without any, for at ten o’clock a thunderstorm from the north-west came up, and before we could get half our things under canvas, we were thoroughly drenched.  Off our tarpaulins we obtained plenty of water for breakfast; but the ground would not retain any.  Sixteen miles farther along we came down out of the sandhills on to a creek where we found water, and camped, but the grass was very poor, dry, and innutritious.