Cut off, as it is, by the desert, the district has the disadvantage of none but sea communication with the rest of the Colony.  This necessitates the double shipment of live stock, once at either port, Derby or Wyndham, after they have been driven so far from the stations, and once again at Fremantle.  A coastal stock route is debarred by the poverty of the country between Derby and the De Grey River, and a direct stock route through the desert is manifestly impracticable.  It seems to me that too little attention has been given to horse-breeding, and that a remunerative trade might be carried on between Kimberley and India, to which this district is nearer than any other part of Australia.

What horses are bred, though otherwise excellent, are small—­a defect that should easily be remedied.  The cattle, too, are rather on the small side, and this again, by more careful attention to breeding, could be improved upon.

Hall’s Creek is by no means a large town; in fact, it consists of exactly nine buildings—­post and telegraph office and Warden’s office and court, Warden’s house, hospital, gaol, police-station, sergeant’s house, butcher’s shop and house, store, and hotel.

Besides these there are several nomadic dwellings, such as tents, bush humpies, and drays.

A house is a luxury, and some of the oldest residents have never built one.  “Here to-day and gone to-morrow, what’s the good of a house?” was the answer I got from one who had only been there for ten years!

Mud-brick walls and corrugated-iron roofs is the style of architecture in general vogue.  The inhabitants are not many, as may be supposed, but those there are simply overflow with hospitality and good spirits.  One and all were as pleased to see us, and have us live amongst them, as if we had been old friends.  The population is very variable; the surrounding district contains some fifty or sixty fossickers, who come into town at intervals to get fresh supplies of flour and salt beef—­the one and only diet of the bushmen in these parts, who, though very rarely seeing vegetables, are for the most part strong and healthy.  Sometimes cases of scurvy, or a kindred disease, occur; one poor chap was brought in whilst we were there, very ill indeed.  I happened to be up at the hospital, and asked the orderly (there was no doctor) what he would do for him in the way of nourishing food.  “Well,” said he, looking very wise, “I think a little salt beef will meet the case.”  And such would indeed have been his diet if I had not luckily had some Liebig’s Extract; for the town was in a state verging on famine, dependent as it is on the whims of “packers” and teamsters, who bring provisions from the coast, nearly three hundred miles, by road.  Twice a year waggons arrive; for the rest everything is brought per horseback, and when the rains are on, and the rivers running, their load is as often as not considerably damaged by immersion in the water.