The next morning, the 10th, I was worse, and it was agony to have to rise, let alone to ride.  We reached the Lightning Rock at three p.m., when the thermometer indicated 110 degrees.  The water was all but gone from the native well, but a small quantity was obtained by digging.  I was too ill to do anything.  A number of native fig-trees were growing on this rock, and while Gibson was using the shovel, Mr. Tietkens went to get some for me, as he thought they might do me good.  It was most fortunate that he went, for though he did not get any figs, he found a fine rock water-hole which we had not seen before, and where all the horses could drink their fill.  I was never more delighted in my life.  The thought of moving again to-morrow was killing—­indeed I had intended to remain, but this enabled us all to do so.  It was as much as I could do to move even the mile, to where we shifted our camp; thermometer 108 degrees.  By the next day, 12th, the horses had considerably reduced the water, and by to-morrow it will be gone.  This basin would be of some size were it cleaned out; we could not tell what depth it was, as it is now almost entirely filled with the debris of ages.  Its shape is elliptical, and is thirty feet long by fifteen broad, its sides being even more abrupt than perpendicular—­that is to say, shelving inwards—­and the horses could only water by jumping down at one place.  There was about three feet of water, the rest being all soil.  To-day was much cooler.  I called this Tietkens’s Tank.  On the 14th, the water was gone, the tank dry, and all the horses away to the east, and it was past three when they were brought back.  Unfortunately, Gibson’s little dog Toby followed him out to-day and never returned.  After we started I sent Gibson back to await the poor pup’s return, but at night Gibson came without Toby; I told him he could have any horses he liked to go back for him to-morrow, and I would have gone myself only I was still too ill.  During the night Gibson was taken ill just as I had been; therefore poor Toby was never recovered.  We have still one little dog of mine which I bought in Adelaide, of the same kind as Toby, that is to say, the small black-and-tan English terrier, though I regret to say he is decidedly not, of the breed of that Billy indeed, who used to kill rats for a bet; I forget how many one morning he ate, but you’ll find it in sporting books yet.  It was very late when we reached our old bough gunyah camp; there was no water.  I intended going up farther, but, being behind, Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy had began to unload, and some of the horses were hobbled out when I arrived; Gibson was still behind.  For the second time I have been compelled to retreat to this range; shall I ever get away from it?  When we left the rock, the thermometer indicated 110 degrees in the shade.