We reached the ridges in seven miles from where we had camped, and had now come ninety miles from Wynbring.  We could find no water at these ridges, as there were no places that could hold it.  Here we may be said to have entered on a piece of open country, and as it was apparently a change for the better from the scrubs, I was very glad to see it, especially as we hoped to obtain water on it.  Our horses were now in a terrible state of thirst, for the heat was great, and the region we had traversed was dreadfully severe, and though they had each been given some of the water we brought with us, yet we could not afford anything like enough to satisfy them.  From the top of the ridge a low mount or hill bore 20 degrees north of east; Mount Finke, behind us, bore 20 degrees south of west.  I pushed on now for the hill in advance, as it was nearly on the route I desired to travel.  The country being open, we made good progress, and though we could not reach it that night, we were upon its summit early the next morning, it being about thirty miles from the ridges we had left, a number of dry, salt, white lagoons intervening.  This hill was as dry and waterless as the mount and ridges, we had left behind us in the scrubs.  Dry salt lagoons lay scattered about in nearly all directions, glittering with their saline encrustations, as the sun’s rays flashed upon them.  To the southward two somewhat inviting isolated hills were seen; in all other directions the horizon appeared gloomy in the extreme.  We had now come 120 miles from water, and the supply we had started with was almost exhausted; the country we were in could give us none, and we had but one, of two courses to pursue, either to advance still further into this terrible region, or endeavour to retreat to Wynbring.  No doubt the camels could get back alive, but ourselves and the horses could never have recrossed the frightful bed of rolling sand-mounds, that intervened between us and the water we had left.  My poor old black companion was aghast at such a region, and also at what he considered my utter folly in penetrating into it at all.  Peter Nicholls, I was glad to find, was in good spirits, and gradually changing his opinions with regard to the powers and value of the camels.  They had received no water themselves, though they had laboured over the hideous sandhills, laden with the priceless fluid for the benefit of the horses, and it was quite evident the latter could not much longer live, in such a desert, whilst the former were now far more docile and obedient to us than when we started.  Whenever the horses were given any water, we had to tie the camels up at some distance.  The expression in these animals’ eyes when they saw the horses drinking was extraordinary; they seemed as though they were going to speak, and had they done so, I know well they would have said, “You give those useless little pigmies the water that cannot save them, and you deny it to us, who have carried it, and will yet be your only saviours in the end.”