Desert oaks had for the last few days been frequently met with, growing singly or in groves. The wind soughs through the foliage—like the music of rushing, seething water in some distant creek.
Water, always water! Thitherward one's thoughts here ever fly; upon memories of it one lingers with the utmost fondness.
As I struggle on and on, deeper and deeper into the toils of the desert, there grows upon me a morbid dread of running short of water. To have it was my greatest craving; to have plenty of it my chief aim.
The wind is mostly in my teeth, but that is of small consequence now that I am content to creep over these interminable wastes.
* * * *
Everybody carries a bottle of eye-water. Sore eyes are very prevalent in this sandy country. The flies had it pretty well all their own way with me down by the Goyder; so now I also have had to procure a small bottle. A depôt would not be a depôt without a stock of it.
* * * *
By noon Diamond had borne me to the Deep Well and its "accommodation house." Having obtained some provisions, we pushed on and camped that night some 15 miles ahead. Deep Well is in flat sandy country, in a valley of the James Range. As it is about 200 feet deep, the water is drawn by bullocks attached to a "whip." The surrounding country is lightly stocked with cattle and goats. The well itself is rented from the Government, and a small charge is made for the water.
Between here and Alice Springs another well is badly wanted. Another well—or, better, two. This absence of, or long distance between, waters is a well-founded matter for complaint with the teamsters or team owners, and must impose great hardships on anyone whom business—or "eccentricity"—may prevail on to travel hither.