April 20th we left our camp on the lake, steering due East to cut a creek which enters on the North-East corner; the creek was dry, and the nature of its shingly bed inclined me to think that it has its rise in auriferous country.  Close by the creek we found a shallow clay-pan, and as the next day would probably see us in the desert I had every available water-carrying vessel filled.  Tiger worked well, but a friend of his, who had come with us so far, watched the proceedings with suspicion.  On being questioned as to waters to the South-East, he was most positive as to their non-existence, and evidently frightened Tiger so much by his dreadful account of the country that he decided on returning home—­for the next morning both he and his friend had disappeared.  I was very sorry, for he was a smart lad, and now we were a bit short-handed.  Pursuit was of course useless, for he had too great a start, and would soon be lost amongst his tribesmen.  He had worked so well that I never suspected him of wishing to go.  I fear he will spear Mr. Stretch’s cattle after all!

Fully loaded with water, we left the lakes, steering towards Mount Wilson (Gregory); the heat was great, and the flies worse than we had before experienced.

Riding ahead steering was most unpleasant; one hand for the compass, one for the bridle, left nothing with which to frighten the flies from the corners of my eyes, which became quite raw in consequence.  Certainly riding is a great improvement on walking, and I prayed that the horses would long be spared to us.  Once through the dense scrub surrounding the lake, and our old friends sand and spinifex lay before us.  Crossing an open plain, we reached Mount Wilson, from which the lake was plainly visible, at a greatly lower level.  This hill is the highest in a little broken range of barren sandstone hills, peaks, knobs, and cliffs of all manner of shapes and sizes.  To the eastward stony tablelands can be seen, running from which I noticed what I took to be a creek.

At this point it is interesting to see what Gregory’s impressions were of the country ahead.  This was the furthest point he reached in 1856, having landed an expedition on the Northern coast and travelled up the Victoria River on to the head-waters of the Sturt Creek, and down that creek to its end.  He says:  “From the summit of the hill (Mount Wilson) nothing was visible but one unbounded waste of sandy ridges and low, rocky hills, which lay to the South-East of the hill.  All was one impenetrable desert; . . . the vegetation on this part of the country was reduced to a few stunted gums, hakea bushes, and Triodia (spinifex), the whole extremely barren in appearance. . .  The remaining portion of the horizon was one even, straight line:  not a hill or break of any kind, and except the narrow line of the creek, was barren and worthless in the extreme, the red soil of the level portions of the surface being partially clothed with Triodia and a few small trees, or rather bushes, rendering the long, straight ridges of fiery-red, drifting sand more conspicuous.”