We left Coondambo on the 8th; on the 9th rain pretended to fall, and we were kept in camp during the day, as a slight spitting fell, but was totally useless.  On the 11th we encamped again near Lake Gairdner’s shore; this was the last we should see of it.  Our latitude here was 31 degrees 5’, and longitude 135 degrees 30’ 10”.  We had seen no water since leaving Coondambo, from whence we carried a quantity of the thick yellow fluid, which curdled disagreeably when made into tea, the sugar having the chemical property of precipitating the sediment.  We were again in a scrubby region, and had been since leaving Coondambo.  Our course was now nearly north-north-west for sixteen or seventeen miles, where we again camped in scrubs.  The following day we got to a low rocky hill, or rather several hills, enveloped in the scrub; there were numerous small indentations upon the face of the rocks, and we got some water for the camels, though they had to climb all over the rocks to get it, as there was seldom more than three or four gallons in any indent.  We got some pure water for ourselves, and were enabled to dispense with the yellow clayey fluid we had carried.  From these hills we travelled nearly west-north-west until, on the 15th, we fell in with my former tracks in April, when travelling from Wynbring.  Old Jimmy was quite pleased to find himself again in country which he knew something about.  We could again see the summit of Mount Finke.  The only water I knew of in this wretched country being at Wynbring, I determined to follow my old route.  On the 16th we passed a place where we had formerly seen a small portion of bare rock, and now, in consequence of the late sprinkling showers on the 9th and 10th, there were a few thimblefuls of water on it.  This set Jimmy into a state of excitement; he gesticulated and talked to Tommy in their language at a great rate, and Tommy said, “Ah, if you found water here, when you come before, Chester and Formby wouldn’t die.”  “Well,” I said, “Tommy, I don’t see much water here to keep anything alive, even if it had been here then.”  He only sapiently shook his head and said, “But if you got plenty water then that’s all right.”  I found Tommy’s arguments were exactly similar to those of all other black boys I have known, exceedingly comical, but all to their own way of thinking.

Soon after this, I was riding in advance along the old track, when old Jimmy came running up behind my camel in a most excited state, and said, “Hi, master, me find ’im, big one watta, plenty watta, mucka (not) pickaninny (little); this way, watta go this way,” pointing to a place on our left.  I waited until the caravan appeared through the scrub, then old Jimmy led us to the spot he had found.  There was a small area of bare rock, but it was too flat to hold any quantity of water, though some of the fluid was shining on it; there was only enough for two or three camels, but I decided to camp there nevertheless.  What water there was, some of the