By going due East from Mount Ernest I could have cut the Sturt Creek in less than one hundred miles’ travel, which would have simplified our journey.  But taking into consideration that an equal distance would probably take us beyond the northern boundary of the desert, I determined to continue on a Northerly course, as by doing so we should be still traversing unknown country, until we reached the Margaret River or some tributary of it; whereas by cutting and then following up the Sturt, we should merely be going over ground already covered by Gregory’s and subsequent parties.

Careful scanning of the horizon from Mount Ernest resulted in sighting some hills or rocks to the North-East.  Excepting that higher ground existed, nothing could be seen as to its nature, for it was ever moving this way and that in the shimmering haze of heat and glare of the sun, which, intensified by powerful field-glasses, made one’s eyes ache.  I find it hard indeed to render this narrative interesting, for every page of my diary shows an entry no less monotonous than the following: 

“Same miserable country—­roasting sun—­no feed for camels—­camp on crest of high ridge in hopes of getting a breath of air—­thousands of small ants worry us at night—­have to shift blankets half a dozen times.  Val’s feet getting better—­she can again walk a little.”

The high ground seen from Mount Ernest turned out to be bare rocks of black ironstone, from which we sighted a very large smoke rising to the eastward—­miles of country must have been burning, a greater extent than we had yet seen actually alight.  Probably the hot weather accounted for the spread of the flames.  Though apparently at no great distance, it took us all that day and six hours of the next to reach the scene of the fire, where spinifex and trees were still smouldering and occasionally breaking into flames, whirlwinds of dust and ashes rising in every direction.  Having camped we set out as usual to find tracks, Breaden and Warri being successful in finding a pad of some dozen blacks going in the same direction.  This they followed for a few miles, and returned long after dark, guided by a blazing bank of spinifex; very worn and thirsty they were too, for tramping about in sand and ashes is a most droughty job.

Having kept the camels in camp, since there was not a scrap of feed, we were able to be well on our way before sunrise.  Luckily the tracks led us between two ridges, and we had only one to cross, which was fortunate, for our beasts were famished from hunger, having had no food or water for five days.  At every halt, however short, if whoever was leading them stopped, even to pull out a piece of spinifex which had found its way through some hole in his boot, they would take advantage of it and “plump” down on the sand; and whilst one was being goaded up, down would go the rest.  Poor Prempeh had to be unloaded and dragged behind.