We were now in full view of the range, with the Gorge of Tarns not more than five miles away.  But here Diamond and another, Pratt, that I had out by myself at the stinking pit in November, fell, never to rise.  We took off their packs and left them on the ground.  The thermometer then stood at 106 degrees in the shade.  We pushed on, intending to return immediately with water to the relief of these unfortunates.  The pack-horses now presented a demoralised and disorganised rout, travelling in a long single file, for it was quite impossible to keep the tail up with the leaders.  I shall try to give my reader some slight idea of them, if description is sufficiently palpable to do so.  The real leader was an old black mare, blear-eyed from fly-wounds, for ever dropping tears of salt rheum, fat, large, strong, having carried her 180 pounds at starting, and now desperately thirsty and determined, knowing to an inch where the water was; on she went, reaching the stony slopes about two miles from the water.  Next came a rather herring-gutted, lanky bay horse, which having been bought at the Peake, I called Peveril; he was generally poor, but always able, if not willing, for his work.  Then came a big bay cob, and an old flea-bitten gray called Buggs, that got bogged in the Stemodia viscosa Creek, and a nuggetty-black harness-horse called Darkie, always very fat.  These last three carried 200 pounds each at starting.  Then Banks, the best saddle-horse I have, and which I had worked too much in dry trips before reaching this range; he was very much out of sorts and footsore.  Then an iron-grey colt, called Diaway, having been very poor and miserable when first purchased, but he was a splendid horse.  Then came the sideways-going old crab, Terrible Billy.  He was always getting into the most absurd predicaments—­poor old creature; got down our throats at last!—­falling into holes, and up and down slopes, going at them sideways, without the slightest confidence in himself, or apparent fear of consequences; but the old thing always did his work well enough.  Blackie next, a handsome young colt with a white stripe down his face, and very fast; and Formby, a bay that had done excellent harness-work with Diamond on the road to the Peake; he was a great weight-carrier.  The next was Hollow Back, who had once been a fine-paced and good jumping horse, but now only fit for packing; he was very well bred and very game.  The next was Giant Despair, a perfect marvel.  He was a chestnut, old, large-framed, gaunt, and bony, with screwed and lately staked feet.  Life for him seemed but one unceasing round of toil, but he was made of iron; no distance and no weight was too much for him.  He sauntered along after the leaders, looking not a whit the worse than when he left the last water, going neither faster nor slower than his wont.  He was dreadfully destructive with his pack-bags, for he would never get out of the road for anything less than a gum-tree.  Tommy and Badger,