a most difficult and stony pass; so dreadfully rough and scrubby was it, I was afraid that night would descend upon us before we could reach the southern side.  Mr. Tietkens’s Bluey gave in here, and fell heavily down a stony slope into a dense thicket of scrub; we had the greatest difficulty in getting him out, and it was only by rolling him over the stones and down the remainder of the slope, for he could not stand, that we got him to the bottom.  He was severely cut and bruised in the descent.  We just managed to get clear of the stones by dark, and unpacked the exhausted animals, which had been travelling almost ever since daylight.  We had no water except a mouthful for the little dog.  The thermometer stood at 108 degrees, ourselves and our horses were choking for water.

In the morning several of the horses were lying dying about the camp; Bluey, Diamond, a little cob—­mate or brother of the one killed on Elder’s Creek—­and one or two more, while those that were able had wandered away.  Though we were up and after them at three in the morning, it was ten before I could despatch Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy with the main mob.  Poor little Bluey died soon after sunrise.  Gibson was after the absent horses, which he brought at length, and we packed up and went after the others.  Gibson’s usual riding-horse, Trew, was very bad, and quite unable to carry him.  Mr. Tietkens was now riding an old horse which I had purchased in Victoria, and had owned for some time; he was called Widge.  I had him out on my former expedition.  He was a cool, calculating villain, that no ordinary work could kill, and he was as lively as a cricket when Mr. Tietkens rode him away; he usually carried a pack.  Jimmy carried the little dog Cocky, now nearly dead from thirst and heat, though we had given him the last drop of water we possessed.  Dogs, birds, and large beasts in Australia often die of heat, within sight of water.  Jimmy was mounted on a gray-hipped horse, which was also out on my former trip; he carried his rider well to the end.  Gibson I had mounted on a young bay mare, a creature as good as they make them; she was as merry and gay, as it is possible for any of her sex, even of the human kind, to be.  Her proper name was the Fair Maid of Perth; but somehow, from her lively, troublesome, and wanton vagaries, they called her the Sow-Cow.  My own riding-horse, a small, sleek, cunning little bay, a fine hack with excellent paces, called W.A., I also had out previously.  He would pull on his bridle all day long to eat, he would even pretend to eat spinifex; he was now very bad and footsore.  Gibson and I overtook Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy, and we pushed on as fast as we could, the distance we had now to go, not being more than ten or eleven miles.  The sandhills were exceedingly high and severe, but all the horses got over the last one.