Singular to say, on this attempt I found a place west from the end, the Rawlinson Range, where there were some rock-holes on a grassy mulga flat, but we did not require the water, as the camels would not drink.  Had I come upon this spot when I was in this region before, it might have saved Gibson and all the horses that were lost with him.  I called this little watered spot, Tommy’s Flat; the latitude of it is 24 degrees 52’ 3”.  It bears 9 degrees south of west from a peculiar red sandhill that is visible from any of the hills at the western extremity of the Rawlinson Range; and lies in a flat or hollow between the said red sandhill, and the nearest of a few low stony hills, about four miles farther away to the west.  On visiting the Circus, I found the water-hole was full and deep.  This was very different from its state when I had seen it last.  The recording eagle still was sitting immovable on his crag, Prometheus-like, apparently chained to the rock.

On the 11th of July, the main party having been encamped at Tyndall’s Springs for seven days, we departed for Sladen Water, at the Pass of the Abencerrages.  All the other places previously mentioned on the range, had plenty of water running on for ever, though at the Pass the supply was rather lower than I had seen it previously.  There was, however, quite enough for all our requirements.  The little sweet-water spring was bubbling up, and running over as of yore.  Both at Fort McKellar and here I found that the bones of the horses we had smoked and eaten had been removed by the natives, or wild dogs.  At Fort McKellar the smoke-house frame had either fallen or been knocked down; while here, at the Pass, the natives had removed the timber, and placed portions of it in different places and positions.  We saw none of the natives belonging to the range, although their smokes were a very short distance away.  Sladen Water was always a favourite spot with me, and we rested a day at it for old association’s sake.

On the 14th of July we left the place, and travelled along my former route, via Gill’s Pinnacle, and all the other watering-places mentioned in my preceding narrative.  The Petermann Range looked green and beautiful.  It had evidently been visited by rains.  A portion of the Rawlinson and the Petermann Ranges were the only spots for hundreds of miles of which this could be said.  The Hull here runs near the boundary of the two colonies of South, and Western Australia, and crossing it, we entered the former province once more.  When nearly at the eastern end of the Petermann—­that is to say, close to Mount Phillips—­we camped in Winter’s Glen, where the whole tribes of the Petermann were located.  They instantly armed themselves, and endeavoured to prevent our progress.  Several of them recognised me, and I them; for in my first visit to this range, with Tietkens, we had three encounters with them.  They evidently intended mischief again; but they kept off until morning, and we then, being