Fortunately water was close to hand, that is to say three miles away, in a creek since named “Dingo Creek.”  From there we packed water back to camp, as often as we required it.  Our luck in securing game had now deserted us, and we had again to fall back on our nearly diminished stock of mince.

After a week’s hard work we found that with our limited supply of tools, without drills and dynamite, it was impossible to do any farther sinking; besides which the low tide in our provisions necessitated a return to civilisation before many days.

I pegged out, therefore, an area of four hundred yards by four hundred yards, as a “protection area”; that is to say, that the fact of four corner-pegs and a notice having been put up in some prominent place protects the ground from being taken by any one else for a period of thirty days.  After that time has elapsed the area must be applied for at the nearest Warden’s office, where, unless disputed, it is registered under the name of the applicant, who must at once commence work upon it.  When such work proves the existence of “payable gold” the area must be again applied for as a lease, to hold which the sum of 1 pound per acre, per annum, must be paid to the Government.  There are other conditions with which it is necessary to conform, and which need not be enumerated here.

Since we had ample time to go and return from Coolgardie within the prescribed period, we decided that in place of travelling direct homewards, we would make a detour and visit the locality of Mount Ida, where we had heard gold had been found.  By rapid travelling our “tucker” could be made to last out the time.  Winter was now coming on, and the nights were bitterly cold.  Our blankets in the morning were soaked with dew and frost, and when the days were cloudy and sometimes drizzly we had no chance of drying them until we built a fire at night.  One is so used to reading of the terrible heat in Australia that it may come as a surprise to many to hear that in the short winter in the interior—­which, by the way, is 1,500 feet above sea level—­the thermometer sometimes sinks for a brief period of time to 17 degrees F.

This low temperature is reached about an hour before daylight, as you know to your cost, if you are ill-provided with blankets.  At that time in the morning your head is drawn into the possum rug, and you lie stiff and shivering until you hear the indescribable something—­that heralds the coming of the sun.  It may be a camel moving, as he shakes the frost from his woolly coat, it may be a bird, or a grasshopper, but always there is some little noise that would tell even a blind man that the night is over.  Often you know by the stars how long it will be before daylight, and stir up the fire, put on the billy, and get the saddles and packs in order.  Sometimes you fix on the wrong star, and are thanked accordingly by your mate when, with his feet in his cold, clammy boots, he discovers that his watch reads 2 a.m.  Sometimes you have the satisfaction of growling at him, and occasionally, if you feel in very nasty humour, you may lie “dog-oh” and watch his early rising, knowing full well the right time; laughter, however, gives you away, and you are justly rewarded by having the blankets torn off you.  Such simple pranks as these make bearable a life that would otherwise suffocate you with its monotony.