The bicycle had been blown over by a gust of wind, and was lying on the ground. Worse still a thousand times, the stopper had been jerked out of the neck of the waterbag, and the precious water had drained out. However, it was only 20 miles to a soakage; my spirits were high after my recent good living: so, with a few cursory remarks to the wind and to Diamond, I remounted and rode on.
* * * *
Before many miles had been covered, against a head wind and under a sweltering sun, a sharp thirst reminded me that I had eaten a salt-meat breakfast; and that thirst became sharper still before Taylor Creek was reached. The track, too, was a bit heavy—over flats of light loamy soil and sandy plains for the greater part of the 20 miles.
On coming opposite the bend, where the Taylor Creek is nearest on the track's eastern side, I rode across to refill the waterbag; but all the soakage water had dried up. Holes had been sunk in the gravel about two feet deep, but only a white gritty clay showed at the bottom of each one.
It was a weary search along that creek's bed; up and down I tramped anxiously, burrowing and scratching, but unavailingly; and after an hour spent in this way, it was a sadder man who returned to pursue an onward course.
Six miles is not far; but it counts for very much when a man has done twenty before it on a hot day, and that is topped up with an anxious search, a sandy road, and a disappointment. That six miles took me to a well sunk in the Taylor, at a point where the creek passes through a range. A bucketful of water was soon hauled up, and, pushing in one of the two stop-bolts which were provided at the sides for that purpose, thus leaving the bucket suspended on top of the well, I leaned over and had gulped down three or four mouthfuls before I made a shocking discovery.
The horrid stuff was almost salt!
I spat out what I could; but what I had swallowed had far from given me relief.
Yet how it glistened! Was it mockery? I laughed a little, and knew the laugh was forced. Yes, this was thirst.