horizon to the west the country seemed to fall into a kind of long valley, and it looked dark, and seemed to have timber in it, and here also the natives had formerly burnt the spinifex, but not recently.  The hills to the west were twenty-five to thirty miles away, and it was with extreme regret I was compelled to relinquish a farther attempt to reach them.  Oh, how ardently I longed for a camel! how ardently I gazed upon this scene!  At this moment I would even my jewel eternal, have sold for power to span the gulf that lay between!  But it could not be, situated as I was; compelled to retreat—­of course with the intention of coming again with a larger supply of water—­now the sooner I retreated the better.  These far-off hills were named the Alfred and Marie Range, in honour of their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh.  Gibson’s horse having got so bad had placed us both in a great dilemma; indeed, ours was a most critical position.  We turned back upon our tracks, when the cob refused to carry his rider any farther, and tried to lie down.  We drove him another mile on foot, and down he fell to die.  My mare, the Fair Maid of Perth, was only too willing to return; she had now to carry Gibson’s saddle and things, and we went away walking and riding by turns of half an hour.  The cob, no doubt, died where he fell; not a second thought could be bestowed on him.

When we got back to about thirty miles from the Kegs I was walking, and having concluded in my mind what course to pursue, I called to Gibson to halt till I walked up to him.  We were both excessively thirsty, for walking had made us so, and we had scarcely a pint of water left between us.  However, of what we had we each took a mouthful, which finished the supply, and I then said—­for I couldn’t speak before—­“Look here, Gibson, you see we are in a most terrible fix with only one horse, therefore only one can ride, and one must remain behind.  I shall remain:  and now listen to me.  If the mare does not get water soon she will die; therefore ride right on; get to the Kegs, if possible, to-night, and give her water.  Now the cob is dead there’ll be all the more for her; let her rest for an hour or two, and then get over a few more miles by morning, so that early to-morrow you will sight the Rawlinson, at twenty-five miles from the Kegs.  Stick to the tracks, and never leave them.  Leave as much water in one keg for me as you can afford after watering the mare and filling up your own bags, and, remember, I depend upon you to bring me relief.  Rouse Mr. Tietkens, get fresh horses and more water-bags, and return as soon as you possibly can.  I shall of course endeavour to get down the tracks also.”

(Illustration:  The last ever seen of Gibson.)