Leaving the rocks in possession of our late adversary we once more plunged into the scrub, altering our course to the west with the object of revisiting the country around Mount Ida, where Luck and I had found colours.  Our way lay between salt lakes on our left, and a low terrace or tableland of what is locally known as “conglomerate” on our right.  At the head of a gully running from this we were fortunate in finding water, sufficient to fill our casks, and give each camel a drink.  This was on the morning of January 25th, and until the 31st about noon we saw no further signs of water.  Every likely place was dry.  Where Luck and I had found water before, not a drop of moisture could be seen; the holes contained nothing but the feathers and skeletons of disappointed birds.  Unable to stop at Mount Ida without packing water twenty-five miles, which the prospects of the country did not warrant, we turned northwards across much broken granite country, which we vainly searched for Namma-holes or soaks.  Far ahead of us we could see sharp pinnacles, standing up high and solitary above the scrub.  These turned out to be huge blows of white quartz, and were no doubt connected underground, for we traced them a distance of nearly thirty miles.  Interesting as these were, our thoughts were turned to water-hunting, for the weather—­the season being midsummer—­was scorching; the poor camels, sore-footed from the stony granite, parched with thirst, and forced to carry their loads, eight to twelve hours a day, showed signs of distress.  Weary and footsore ourselves, tramping at full speed all day over the burning rocks, one with the camels, the others on either hand, scouting, our casks all but empty, our position was not enviable.

The night of the 30th our water was finished.  The nearest known to us was thirty-five miles off, and a a salt lake was between—­a sufficient bar to our hopes in that direction.  Matters were by no means desperate, however, for thirty miles north we were bound to cut the Cue-Mount Margaret road, and having done so it would be merely a question of time, with a certainty of arriving at a watering place eventually, if we and our camels could hold out.  A dry stage, however long, with the certainty of relief at the end of it, gives little cause for anxiety when compared with one on which neither the position nor even the existence of water can be known.

Next morning we followed up a small creek, and on crossing saw the tracks of several kangaroos and emus making towards two peaks of quartz.  Here was our chance.  It was my place of course to go, but I yielded to the persuasion of Paddy and Jim, who insisted that I had denied myself water to eke out our scanty supply (though I doubt if I had done so more than they), and must rest.  So, putting the camels down in the welcome shade of a kurrajong, I lay down beside them and was presently relieved by the sound of a revolver-shot, our signal that water was found.