After digging out the sand and hauling it in buckets to the surface we had a rock-hole nearly conical in shape, twenty-five feet deep, twenty feet by fifteen at the mouth, narrowing in on all sides to three feet in diameter at the bottom.  The first day and night we laboured until we literally could no longer move, from sheer exhaustion.  Breaden was so cramped and cold, from a long spell in the wet sand below, that we had to haul him out, put him in his blankets, and pile them upon him, though the night was warm.  The result of all this toil—­not quite ninety gallons of far from pure water!  What a country! one ceaseless battle for water, which at whatever cost one is only too thankful to get!  Of the ninety gallons, sixty were distributed amongst the horses and camels, the remainder we kept for our own use and that of the horses when we continued our journey.  Eight miles of sandhills on the 20th took us, under the native’s guidance, to another rock-hole—­full to the brim—­its water protected from the sun by an overhanging ledge of rock.

Here we soon had the thirsty animals satisfied, and had time to consider the rather comical aspect of affairs from the black-fellow’s point of view.  How he must have laughed to himself as he watched us toiling away, coaxing out water drop by drop the days before, when all the time a plentiful supply was close at hand!  Excellent grass surrounds the rock-hole, enclosed by mulga thickets, so we rested here a day, shooting a few pigeons and enjoying the first proper wash since April 25th, when we last camped at a good water.  Whilst travelling, of course no water for washing could be afforded, as every pint was of some service to the horses.

This rock-hole is in lat. 23 degrees 44 minutes, long. 128 degrees 52 minutes.  On May 22nd we continued our journey, marching South over irregular sandhills, forcing our way through scrubs, until, on the evening of the 23rd, we were in the latitude of the centre of Lake Amadeus, as it was formerly marked by Giles.  I was anxious to see if Tietkens had perhaps passed between two lakes, leaving an unnoticed lake on his left.  We now altered our course to the West, sighting a large bare hill some forty miles distant, which I take to be Mount Skene (Giles).  This hill is close to the high ranges, the Petermann and others, and it would have simplified our journey to have turned to them, where good waters are known to exist, but I desired to see what secrets unknown country might hold, even though it might be only sandhills.

This proved to be the case, and during the next six days we crossed the most barren wilderness it had been our lot to see, not a bite of food for camels or horses, who, poor brutes, turned in despair to the spinifex and munched its prickly spines—­not a living thing, no sign of life, except on two occasions.  The first when, at the beginning of the stage, we captured a young gin, whom I soon released for several reasons, not the least important of which, was that