‘We take this track, sir,’ said Waters. ‘It’s the main road to the “twenty-mile soak,” and give out as we’re goin’ to Kurnalpi. There’s whips o’ tracks for ten or twelve mile; and then we strike due west. If any of ’em follers us up, we can say we’re makin’ for Kimberley—that’ll choke ’em off, if anything will.’

‘I suppose there are men on these fields that will track up prospectors if they believe they’ve made a find?’

‘In course there are, sir. Chaps as like pickin’ up the fruits of other men’s work, and ain’t game to tackle the hardships theirselves.’

So the strangely constituted companions journeyed on, by the faint wavering light of the struggling moon, sometimes obscured, but generally available, as the track, so far, was across open plains or downs, sandy, gravelly, or rock-strewn by turns, but offering no serious obstacle to the passage of horse or man. What timber there was consisted chiefly of scrub and brushwood, mulga or mallee. Some of it was available for camel food; but, in a general way, it appeared to the Commissioner as a land accursed of God and man—unfitted for providing sustenance for man or beast.

As the night dragged through, he could not but consider the contrast between his present position and that which he had abandoned in order to follow what might be a delusive phantom, a ‘Will-o’-the-wisp’—an ‘ignis fatuus,’ specially provided for leading astray wayfarers, [37] ]blinded by the ‘auri sacra fames.’ Suppose he lost his way, broke down in health or eyesight—the most vulnerable point in the explorer’s armoury? Waters was old, and though apparently strong, and inured to hardship, could not go on for ever, or if he missed his way to the Waterloo Spring?—they were far apart and the aboriginal natives were indifferent or hostile—in any case, averse, from their standpoint, to point out or conduct the party to the inestimable water-store. What might be his fate? And what—still more harrowing thought—the condition of his wife and family, deprived of his protecting care, and having exhausted his slender store of earnings—the fruit of many an hour of toil and self-denial? He had reached the point of almost intolerable doubt and distress of mind when a cheery shout from his companion, who held the reins, dislodged the nightmare which he had conjured up.

‘Yes, Captain, yonder’s the Black Peak! I was pretty near told out when I struck it, and that done when I got there that I never expected to see home again. I’d been walking half the night, and all day—my water-bag was empty—I’d had nothing to eat to speak of for a week past, just a morsel of biscuit now and then. My boots was wore through, my feet bleedin’, and that sore I could hardly drag myself along. By George! if a digger wants to have the heart of a lion, as people say, what must a prospector? Heat and cold, hunger and thirst—blacks to fight, off and on—whites if he’s got a bit of gold, nigh hand as bad, perhaps worse, as they’re more cunning. [38] ]How many a heap of bones lies bleaching in the sun, between here and Kurnalpi! Sometimes they’re found, and there’s papers on ’em that tells where the only son, or the favourite youngest one, laid down to die, and never come home, all the years they was expecting of him to open the door of the old place and say, “Here I am, with a brown face and a bag of nuggets”—as the story-writers tell us. Well, well! I’m ramblin’ away, just like a chap I did hear once, as I come on just in time to give him a bite and a sup, and save his precious life. How he was a-talkin’ and goin’ on! I heard him a matter of half a mile afore I got to him. He talked and talked—thought he saw his people again, and they wouldn’t let him in. Then he’d scream and yell, and curse frightful, and say the devil was coming for him—just for all the world like a man with the jim-jams—the D.T.s, or whatever doctors call it. There ain’t so much difference between what men and women say when once they’re off their head. We’re all queer animals—larned or unlarned—and that’s a fact.

‘And now, sir, as I’ve talked enough rot for a while, only I thought you was lookin’ rather down on it, and it might liven you up a bit, I see we’re on a bit of good saltbush where we can stop and give the horses a feed. I’ll fry a bit of the mutton for a relish, and make a pot of tea. There’s a plenty of the damper left as I baked a while back. We can take it easy while you have a “bange.” I’ll watch the nags, in case any one comes along. We can push on afterwards. Anyhow the horses will be all the better for a spell.’

[39]
]Waters bustled about, unharnessing and hobbling the horses, which immediately began to nibble the saline bushes that seemed to have found a patch of congenial soil. Walking down a small gully or shallow ravine, he was fortunate enough to discover a tiny ‘soak’ under a rock, being directed thereto by a brace of the beautiful bronzewing pigeons. These birds will fly great distances to a spring or water-hole of any sort, but are difficult to shoot, as their habit is to drink rapidly, and fly back to their haunts so suddenly that it is a case of snap-shot, or too late.

The soak proved sufficient to give the team a drink, and also to fill up the ten-gallon keg, which was kept as a reserve in case of need.

After this halt Mr. Banneret felt easier in his mind, and more sanguine as to the results of the expedition.