Numerous parties were camped at Lawlers, with some two hundred horses turned out in the bush, waiting until rain should fall.  Though with no better feed than grass, dry and withered, the freedom from work had made them skittish.  What a pretty sight it is to see a mob of horses trooping in for water at night; the young colts kicking up their heels with delight; the solemn old packhorse looking with scorn on the gambols of his juvenile brethren, with a shake of his hardy old head, as much as to say, “Ah! wait till you’ve done the dry stages that I have; wait till you make your evening feed off mulga scrub and bark—­that’ll take the buck out of you!  Why can’t you have your drink soberly, instead of dancing about all over the place?”

Then bringing up the rear, far behind, just emerging from the scrub, are seen those who, from their wandering habits, must wear the bracelets, hurrying and shuffling along with a rattle of chains, tripping up in their eagerness to be even with their mates in the scramble for water:  presently they pause to look about and neigh—­a delay resented by those behind by a friendly bite, answered by a kick; which starts them all off at full gallop, in the approved rocking-horse style, with a tremendous clatter of hobbles and bells.  Suddenly they halt, snorting, and as suddenly start aside, wheel round, and dash away, as they catch sight of our long-necked beasts.  They have seen them often enough, and know them well, but they must keep up an appearance of panic, if only to please their masters, who never cease to jeer at the ungainly shape of the camel, until they possess one themselves.  These unemotional animals watch the horses’ play with lips turned up in derision, and hardly deign to move their heads from the bush or branch on which they are feeding.  Many of the prospectors, though openly sneering at the camels as slow and unmanageable beasts, secretly envied us our ability to travel in hot weather, whilst they had nothing to do but to kick their heels and be thankful they had feed and water for their ponies.  And they envied us all the more on account of the vague rumour that rich gold had been found in the neighbourhood of Lake Darlot, towards which some had pushed out only to be driven back by thirst.  Seeing our evident advantage, should the rumour prove correct, in being able to get there before the crowd, I decided to steer for the lake, with the hope of picking up the tracks of the supposed lucky diggers.

A large creek, the Erlistoun, was given on the chart as running into the lake, and on it was marked by the discoverer Mr. Wells, of the Elder Exploring Expedition, 1892, a permanent pool.  To cut this creek was my object, and, by following its course, to find the pool, and there make a base from which to investigate the truth of the rumour.