So soon as we had proved the supply of our new watering-place, I had intended giving our guide his liberty.  However, he forestalled this by cleverly making his escape.  For want of a tree, his chain had been secured to the iron ring of a heavy pack-bag.  His food and water were given him in empty meat-tins.  With the sharp edge of one of these he had worked so industriously during the night that by morning he had a neat little circle of leather cut out of the bag round the ring.

With a blanket on which he had been lying, he covered his cunning trick and awaited his opportunity.  It soon came; when our attention was fixed on the building of a shade, and, in broad daylight, he sneaked away from us without a sign or sound, taking with him some three feet of light chain on his ankle.  What a hero he must be thought by his fellow-tribesmen! and doubtless that chain, which he could easily break on a stone with an iron tomahawk, will be treasured for many years to come.  Had he not been in such a hurry he would have returned to his family laden with presents, for we had set aside several articles designed for him.

Our camp was specially built to protect us from the flies, and consisted of a framework of ti-tree poles and branches, roofed with grass and pig-face; under this we slung our mosquito-nets and enjoyed perfect peace.  A few days in camp are by no means idle ones, for numerous are the jobs to be done—­washing and mending clothes, patching up boots and hats, hair cutting, diary writing, plotting our course, arranging photograph plates (the majority of which were, alas! spoilt by the heat), mending a camera cracked by the sun, making hobble-straps, mending and stuffing saddles, rearranging packs cleaning firearms, and other like occupations.  The heat was extreme; too great for my little thermometer which registered up to 140 (degrees) F., and intensified by hot winds and “Willy-Willies” (sometimes of great violence), which greatly endangered our camp.  Godfrey excelled himself in the cooking department, and our usual diet of “tinned dog” was agreeably varied by small pigeons, which came in numbers to drink—­pretty little slate-grey birds with tufts on their heads, common enough in Australia.  Of these we shot over fifty, and, as well, a few of the larger bronzewing pigeons.  The tufted birds come to water just after daylight and just before sundown, and so are more easily shot than the bronzewing.  Throughout the day, galahs, wee-jugglers, parakeets, diamond-sparrows, and an occasional hawk or crow, came to the spring, evidently a favourite resort.  Curiously enough, but few native camps were to be seen, nor is this the first time that I have noticed that the best waters are least used.  The Australian aboriginal is not usually credited with much thought for the morrow.  These desert people, however, have some provident habits, for first the small native wells are used, and only when these are exhausted are the more permanent waters