It was late at night when we reached the Cob tank, and all the water that had accumulated since we left was scarcely a bucketful.

Though the sky was quite overcast, and rain threatened to fall nearly all night, yet none whatever came.  The three horses were huddled up round the perfectly empty tank, having probably stood there all night.  I determined to try down the creek.  One or two small branches enlarged the channel; and in six or seven miles we saw an old native well, which we scratched out with our hands; but it was perfectly dry.  At twelve miles another creek joined from some hills easterly, and immediately below the junction the bed was filled with green rushes.  The shovel was at the Shoeing Camp, the bed was too stony to be dug into with our hands.  Below this again another and larger creek joined from the east, or rather our creek ran into it.  There were some large holes in the new bed, but all were dry.  We now followed up this new channel eastwards, as our horses were very bad, and this was in the direction of the home camp.  We searched everywhere, up in hills and gullies, and down into the creek again, but all without success, and we had a waterless camp once more.  The horses were now terribly bad, they have had only the third of a bucket of water since Wednesday, it being now Friday morning.  We had still thirty miles to go to reach the camp, and it was late when the poor unfortunate creatures dragged themselves into it.  Fortunately the day had been remarkably cool, almost cold, the thermometer only rose to 80 degrees in the shade.  The water had held out well, and it still drained into the tank.

On the following morning, the 1st November, the thermometer actually descended to 32 degrees, though of course there was neither frost nor ice, because there was nothing fluid or moist to freeze.  I do not remember ever feeling such a sensation of intense cold.  The day was delightfully cool; I was most anxious to find out if any water could be got at the junction of the two creeks just left.  Mr. Tietkens and Gibson took three fresh horses, and the shovel, on Monday, the 3rd of November, and started out there again.

Remaining at the camp was simple agony, the ants were so numerous and annoying; a strong wind was blowing from the eastwards, and the camp was in a continual cloud of sand and dust.

The next day was again windy and dusty, but not quite so hot as yesterday.  Jimmy and I and the two dogs were at the camp.  He had a habit of biting the dogs’ noses, and it was only when they squealed that I saw what he was doing; to-day Cocky was the victim.  I said, “What the deuce do you want to be biting the dog’s nose for, you might seriously injure his nasal organ?” “Horgin,” said Jimmy, “do you call his nose a horgin?” I said, “Yes, any part of the body of man or animal is called an organ.”  “Well,” he said, “I never knew that dogs carried horgins about with them before.”  I said, “Well,