The principal object I had in view during the excursion I was then employed upon, was if possible to find a proper position to which the party might move; for I foresaw that my absence would be frequent and uncertain, and although my men were very well disposed towards the natives, I was anxious to prevent the chance of collision or misunderstanding. I had now found such a position, for on examining the water-hole I felt satisfied that it might be depended upon for ten days or a fortnight, whilst the grass in its neighbourhood although dry was abundant. Wishing, however, to penetrate the ranges by the gap through which the creek issued from them, I still thought it advisable to prosecute my intended journey up it. Accordingly on the 24th we mounted our horses and rode towards the hills. A little above where we had slept we passed a small junction from the westward, and at 7 miles entered the gap, the Coonbaralba, on the bearing of which we had run across the plains, being on our right. We had already passed several small water-holes, but at the entrance of the gap passed some larger ones in which the water was brackish, and these had the appearance of being permanent. Topar had shewn much indignation at our going on, and constantly remonstrated with us as we were riding along; however, we saw two young native dogs about a third grown, after which he bounded with incredible swiftness, but when they saw him they started off also. It was soon evident, that both were doomed to destruction, his speed being greater that that of the young brutes, for he rapidly gained upon them. The moment he got within reach of the hindmost he threw a stick which he had seized while running, with unerring precision, and striking it full in the ribs stretched it on the ground. As he passed the animal he gave it a blow on the head with another stick, and bounding on after the other was soon out of our sight. All we knew further of the chase, was, that before we reached the spot where his first prize lay, he was returning to us with its companion. As soon as he had secured his prey he sat down to take out their entrails, a point in which the natives are very particular. He was careful in securing the little fat they had about the kidneys, with which he rubbed his body all over, and having finished this operation he filled their insides with grass and secured them with skewers. This done he put them on the cart, and we proceeded up the pass, at the head of which we arrived sooner than I expected. We then found ourselves at the commencement of a large plain. The hills we had ascended the day before trended to the north, and there was a small detached range running perpendicular to them on our right. To the south there were different points, apparently the terminations of parallel ranges, and westward an unbroken line of hills. The creek seemed to trend to the S.W., and in that direction I determined to follow it, but Topar earnestly entreated us not to do so. He was in great consternation; said here was no water, and promised that if we would follow him he would shew us water in which we could swim. On this condition I turned as he desired, and keeping along the western base of the main or front range, took up a course somewhat obtuse to that by which I had crossed the plains of Cawndilla. The productions on the ground were of a salsolaceous kind, although it was so much elevated above the plains, but amongst them there was not any mesembryanthemum. At about three miles we passed a very remarkable and perfectly isolated hill, of about 150 feet in height. It ran longitudinally from south to north for about 350 yards, and was bare of trees or shrubs, with the exception of one or two casuarinas. The basis of this hill was a slaty ferruginous rock, and protruding above the ground along the spine of the hill there was a line of the finest hepatic iron ore I ever saw; it laid in blocks of various sizes, and of many tons weight piled one upon the other, without a particle of earth either on their faces or between them. Nothing indeed could exceed the clean appearance of these huge masses. On ascending this hill and seating myself on the top of one of them to take bearings, I found that the compass deviated 37 degrees from the north point, nor could I place any dependance on the angles I here took.
At about nine miles the main range turned to the N.N.E., and Topar accordingly keeping near its base changed his course, and at five miles more led us into a pass in some respects similar to that by which we had entered the range. It was however less confined and more open. Steep hills, with rocks in slabs protruding from many parts, flanked it to the south, whilst on its northern side perpendicular rocks, varying in height from 15 to 20 feet, over which the hills rose almost as perpendicularly more than 200 feet higher, were to be seen. Close under these was the stony bed of a mountain torrent, but it was also evident that the whole pass, about 160 yards broad, was sometimes covered by floods. Down this gully Topar now led us, and at a short distance, crossing over to its northern side, he stopped at a little green puddle of water that was not more than three inches deep. Its surface was covered with slime and filth, and our horses altogether rejected it. Some natives had recently been at the place, but none were there when we arrived. I was exceedingly provoked at Topar's treachery, and have always been at a loss to account for it. At the time, both Mr. Browne and myself attributed it to the machinations of our friend Nadbuck; but his alarm at invading the hilly country was too genuine to have been counterfeited. It might have been that Nadbuck and Toonda expected that they would benefit more by our presents and provisions than if we left them for the interior, and therefore tried by every means to deter us from going: they certainly had long conversations with Topar before he left the camp to accompany us. Still I may do injustice to them in this respect. However, whether this was the case or not, we had to suffer from Topar's misconduct. I turned out of the pass, and stopped a little beyond it, in a more sheltered situation. Here Topar coolly cooked his dogs, and wholly demolished one of them and part of the other. In wandering about the gorge of the glen, Mr. Browne found a native well, but there was no water in it.
Our camp at Cawndilla now bore S.S.E. from us, distant 70 odd miles, and having determined on moving the party, I resolved to make the best of my way back to it. On the following morning, therefore, we again entered the pass, but as it trended too much to the eastward, I crossed a small range and descended at once upon the plains leading to the camp. At about 17 miles from the hills, Topar led us to a broad sheet of water that must have been left by the recent rains. It was still tolerably full, and water may perhaps be found here when there is none in more likely places in the hills. This spot Topar called Wancookaroo; it was unfortunately in a hollow from whence we could take no bearings to fix its precise position.
We halted at sunset on the top of a small eminence, from which the hills Mr. Poole had ascended bore E.N.E., and the hill at the pass N.W. We were suddenly roused from our slumbers a little before daylight by a squall of wind that carried away every light thing about us, hats, caps, etc. all went together, and bushes of atriplex also went bounding along like so many foot-balls. The wind became piercing cold, and all comfort was gone. As morning dawned the wind increased, and as the sun rose it settled into a steady gale. We were here about forty miles from Cawndilla, nor do I remember having ever suffered so severely from cold even in Canada. The wind fairly blew through and through us, and Topar shivered so under it that Morgan gave him a coat to put on. As we seldom put our horses out of a walk, we did not reach the tents until late in the afternoon, but I never was more rejoiced to creep under shelter than on this occasion.
Every thing had gone on well during our absence, and Mr. Poole had kept on the most friendly terms with the natives.
I should have mentioned, that, as we descended from the hills, the quick eye of Topar saw a native at a great distance to our left, and just at the outskirt of a few trees. We should have passed him unperceived, but I requested Mr. Browne to ride up to and communicate with him. The poor fellow had dug a pit, for a Talperos [Note 8. A native animal about the size of a rabbit, but longer in shape.], big enough to hide himself in, and as he continued to work at it, did not see Mr. Browne approach, who stood mounted right over the hole before he called to him. Dire was the alarm of the poor native when he looked up and saw himself so immediately in contact with such a being as my companion must have appeared to him; but Mr. Browne considerately retired until he had recovered from his astonishment, and Topar, whom I sent to join them, coming up, he soon recovered his composure and approached the cart. As we had prevented the old man from securing his game, I desired Topar to give him the remains of the dog; but this he refused to do. I therefore ordered Morgan to take it from him, and told Topar I would give him an equivalent when we reached the camp. This native did not seem to be aware that the Darling was up, a piece of news that seemed to give him much joy and satisfaction. I kept my promise with Mr. Topar, but he deserved neither my generosity nor consideration.
Mr. Poole informed me that the fluctuations of temperature had been as great at Cawndilla as with us; that the day before, the heat likewise had been excessive, the thermometer having risen to 110 degrees, on the day of our return it was down to 38 degrees.
The natives appeared really glad to see us again, for I believe they had given us up for lost. My old friend shed tears when he embraced us, and Nadbuck, who still remained with Toonda, shewed the most unequivocal signs of joy.
Cawndilla bears about W.S.W. from the junction of the Williorara with the Darling, at a distance of from six to seven miles. We broke up our camp there on the 28th of October 1844, but, however easily Mr. Browne and I had crossed the plains to the north-west, it was a journey that I felt assured would try the bullocks exceedingly. The weather had again changed, and become oppressively hot, so that it behoved me to use every precaution, in thus abandoning the Darling river.
At early dawn Mr. Browne started with Flood, Cowley, and Kirby, in the light cart, to enlarge the wells at Curnapaga, to enable the cattle to drink out of them. Naturally humane and partial to the natives, he had been particularly kind to Toonda, who in his way was I believe really attached to Mr. Browne. This singular man had made up his mind to remain with his tribe, but when he saw the cart, and Mr. Browne's horse brought up, his feelings evidently overpowered him, and he stood with the most dejected aspect close to the animal, nor could he repress his emotion when Mr. Browne issued from the tents; if our route had been up the Darling, I have no doubt Toonda would still have accompanied us, but all the natives dreaded the country into which we were going, and fully expected that we should perish. It was not therefore surprising that he wavered, more especially as he had been a long time absent from his people, and there might be objections to his leaving them a second time. The real cause, however, was, I think, the overflowing of the Darling, and the usual harvest of fish, and incessant feasting the natives would have in consequence. Their god certainly is their belly, we must not therefore be surprised that Toonda wished to partake of the general abundance that would soon be at the command of his tribe, and probably that his assistance was required. However his heart failed him when he saw Mr. Browne mount his horse to depart, and he expressed his readiness to accompany us to the hills, but no farther. The Boocolo's son had also volunteered to go so far with his friend the cook: when therefore at 8 a.m. I followed Mr. Browne with the remainder of the party, he and Toonda got on the drays. We took a kind leave of the Boocolo, who put his two hands on my head, and said something which I did not understand. It was however the expression of some kind wish at parting. The cattle got on very well during the early part of the day, and at noon we halted for two hours. After noon our progress was slow, and night closed in upon us, whilst we were yet some distance from the creek. We reached the little sand hill near it, to which we were guided by a large fire Flood had kindled at midnight, for it appeared that the horses had given in, and that Mr. Browne had been obliged to halt there. On leaving Cawndilla I sent Mr. Poole to Scrope's Range, to verify his bearings, and to enable Mr. Stuart to sketch in the hills, but he had not at this time rejoined me. At early dawn on the 29th, I accompanied Mr. Browne to the wells, leaving Mr. Piesse with the horse-cart and drays. We arrived there at nine, and by twelve, the time when the oxen came up, had dug a large pit under a rock on the left bank of the creek, which filled rapidly with water. The horses however were still in the rear, and I was ultimately obliged to send assistance to them. At 1 p.m. Mr. Poole and Mr. Stuart rejoined us. Two of our kangaroo dogs had followed them from Cawndilla, but one only returned, the other fell exhausted on the plains. Mr. Poole informed me that he had seen, but lost sight of Flood's signal fire, and had therefore slept higher up on the creek. The animals, but the cart horses in particular, were still very weak when we left Curnapaga, on the 30th, nor is it probable we should have got them to the long water-hole if we had not fortunately stumbled on another little pool of water in a lateral creek about half way. After breakfasting here, we moved leisurely on, and reached our destination at half-past five, p.m. Sullivan shot a beautiful and new hawk (ELANUS SCRIPTUS, Gould), which does not appear to extend farther south than where we here met it, although it wanders over the whole of the north-west interior as far as we went. There were some beautiful plants also growing in the bed of the creek; but we had previously met with so few things that we might here be said to have commenced our collection.