end of Mount Curdie.  A long way off, over the tops of other hills, I could see a peak bearing 27 degrees south of east; this I supposed was, as it ought to be, the Sugar-loaf Hill, south westward from Mount Olga, and mentioned previously.  To the north there was a long wall-like line stretching across the horizon, ending about north-east; this appeared to be a disconnected range, apparently of the same kind as this, and having gaps or passes to allow watercourses to run through; I called it Blood’s Range.  I could trace the Hull for many miles, winding away a trifle west of north.  It is evident that there must exist some gigantic basin into which the Rebecca, the Docker, and the Hull, and very likely several more further east, must flow.  I feel morally sure that the Lake Amadeus of my former journey must be the receptacle into which these creeks descend, and if there are creeks running into the lake from the south, may there not also be others running in, from the north and west?  The line of the southern hills, connected with the Petermann wall, runs across the bearing of the Sugar-loaf, so that I shall have to pass over or through them to reach it.  The outer walls still run on in disconnected groups, in nearly the same direction as the southern hills, forming a kind of back wall all the way.

Starting away from our dry encampment, in seven miles we came to where the first hills of the southern mass approached our line of march.  They were mostly disconnected, having small grassy valleys lying between them, and they were festooned with cypress pines, and some pretty shrubs, presenting also many huge bare rocks, and being very similar country to that described at Ayers Range, through which I passed in August.  Here, however, the rocks were not so rounded and did not present so great a resemblance to turtles.  At two miles we reached a small creek with gum timber, and obtained water by digging.  The fluid was rather brackish, but our horses were very glad of it, and we gave them a couple of hours’ rest.  I called this Louisa’s Creek.  A hill nearly east of Mount Curdie I called Mount Fagan; another still eastward of that I called Mount Miller.  At five miles from Louisa’s Creek we struck another and much larger one, running to the north; and upon our right hand, close to the spot at which we struck it, was a rocky gorge, through and over which the waters must tumble with a deafening roar in times of flood.  Just now the water was not running, but a quantity was lodged among the sand under the huge boulders that fill up the channel.  I called this the Chirnside*.  A hill in the main range eastward of Mount Miller I called Mount Bowley.  At ten miles from Louisa’s Creek we camped at another and larger watercourse than the Chirnside, which I called the Shaw*.  All these watercourses ran up north, the small joining the larger ones—­some independently, but all going to the north.  Crossing two more creeks, we were now in the midst of a broken,