spot, and there was water.  Perhaps I ought to dwell for a moment on this singular occurrence, but I leave it to make its own impression on the reader’s feelings.  I was enabled to send back to the colt, and we managed to save him, and as there was a sufficiency of water for our consumption, I determined to give the men a day of rest, and to try if I could find a passage across the Desert a little to the eastward of north, and with Mr. Stuart proceeded in that direction on the morning of the 24th; but at 3 p.m. we were out of sight of all high land.  The appearance of the Desert was like that of an immense sea beach, and large fragments of rock were imbedded in the ground, as if by the force of waters, and the stones were more scattered, thus shewing the sandy bed beneath and betwixt them.  The day was exceedingly hot, and our horses’ hoofs were so brittle that pieces flew off them like splinters when they struck them against the stones.  We were at this time about sixteen or seventeen miles from the sand hill where we had left the men.  The Desert appeared to be taking a northerly direction, and certainly was much broader than further to the westward, making apparently for the Gulf of Carpentaria; nor could I doubt but that there had once been an open sea between us and it.  We reached our little bivouac at 9 p.m. both ourselves and our horses thoroughly wearied, and disappointed as we had been, I regretted that I had put the poor things to unnecessary hardships.  Perhaps I was wrong in having done so, but I could not rest.  Our latitude here was 26 degrees 26 minutes and our long. by account 139 degrees 21 minutes.  In the morning we crossed the remaining portion of the Desert, as I had determined on making the best of my way to the creek, and passing the sandy ridges reached our first water (the 4th going out), about sunset or a little before.  Water still remained, but it was horridly thick, and in the morning smelt so offensive that it was loathsome to ourselves and the animals.  Our great, indeed our only, dependence then was on the water in the little channel on the grassy plain; at this we arrived late on the afternoon of the 25th.  Another day and we should again have been disappointed:  the water on which I had calculated for a fortnight was all but gone.  In the morning we drained almost the last drop out of the channel.  We were now about 92 miles from the creek, without the apparent probability of relief till we should get to it, for it seemed hopeless to expect that we should find any water in the wells we had dug.  Crossing the grassy plains on an east-north-east course, we passed the salt lake about 10 a.m. to our left, and ran along the sandy ridges between it and our encampment of the 15th, where we had made our second well, at 6 p.m., but it was dry and the bottom cracked and baked.