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Updated: June 7, 2025
Again to the West, one mile, at the head of a deep little rocky gorge, whose entrance is guarded by a large fig tree, is a very fine rock-hole. This was the promised water, and our native friend was free to return to his family; he was greatly pleased at the bargain being carried out, and had evidently not expected it. Possibly what he has heard of the white-fella is not much to his credit!
All day we followed the same two tracks, from rock-hole to rock-hole all were dry as the sandstone in which Nature had placed them. We could see where the blacks had scraped out the sand at the bottom if THEY could not find water, what chance had we? But every step took us closer that is the great consolation in such cases.
The question that presented itself to my mind was whether the natives had sunk the well on a likely looking spot and been fortunate in finding a supply, or whether, from tradition, they knew that this well, possibly only a rock-hole covered by surface soil, existed.
Leaving the camels, we spread out, and searched every hole and corner without success. Every rock-hole was dry. One native soak we found, from which we scraped about half gallon of water none too clear, and the less tempting from the close proximity of the dead body of a gin, a young native woman, fortunately not long dead.
Like banyan-trees. A bad camping-place. Natives accompany us. Find the native well. The Everard revisited. Gruel thick and slab. Well in the Ferdinand. Rock-hole water. Natives numerous and objectionable. Mischief brewing. A hunt for spears. Attack frustrated. Taking an observation. A midnight foe. The next morning. Funeral march. A new well. Change of country. Approaching the telegraph line.
I was fortunate in finding water without difficulty, in a small rock-hole amongst some granite hills in which "Granite Creek" takes its rise. Could I do it? I had to succeed or perish miserably, and a man fights hard for his life. So I struggled on day and night, stopping at frequent intervals from sheer exhaustion, cursing the pitiless sun, and praying for it to sink below the horizon.
The fig tree afforded a splendid shade from the burning sun, and in a recess in the rock close by we could sit in comparative coolness. Here the native artist had been at work, his favourite subject being snakes and concentric rings. A steep gorge, not very easy for camels to pass along, led up to the rock-hole, which lies under a sheltering projection of rock.
I am not quite sure that we agreed with them. Hearing that some promising country existed near Lake Roe, I decided to make for that place, and more particularly for a small rock-hole named Beri, at the west end of the lake.
"When all your men go away from you?" he asked. The captain reflected a moment, and then answered, "About two weeks ago." "That's right! That's right!" exclaimed the negro, nodding violently as he spoke. "We talk about that. We count days. It's just ten days and three days, and Rackbirds go 'way, and leave us high up in rock-hole, with no ladder. After a while we hear guns, guns, guns.
Leaving the rock-hole, we steered for Mount Romilly, first following down the little creek from the gorge until it ran out into the sand in a clump of bloodwoods. Then crossing a plain where some grass grew as well as spinifex, we came again into sand-ridges, then another plain, then a large, dry clay-pan West of Mount Stewart, then more ridges up to the foot of Mount Romilly.
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