artment. Here we fixed up all our packs, sold Mr. Bagot the wagon,
and bought horses and other things; we had now twenty packhorses and
four riding ditto. Here a short young man accosted me, and asked me if
I did not remember him, saying at the same time that he was "Alf." I
fancied I knew his face, but thought it was at the Peake that I had
seen him, but he said, "Oh no, don't you remember Alf with Bagot's
sheep at the north-west bend of the Murray? my name's Alf Gibson, and
I want to go out with you." I said, "Well, can you shoe? can you ride?
can you starve? can you go without water? and how would you like to be
speared by the blacks outside?" He said he could do everything I had
mentioned, and he wasn't afraid of the blacks. He was not a man I
would have picked out of a mob, but men were scarce, and as he seemed
so anxious to come, and as I wanted somebody, I agreed to take him. We
got all our horses shod, and two extra sets of shoes fitted for each,
marked, and packed away. I had a little black-and-tan terrier dog
called Cocky, and Gibson had a little pup of the same breed, which he
was so anxious to take that at last I permitted him to do so.

Our horses' loads were very heavy at starting, the greater number of
the horses carrying 200 pounds. The animals were not in very good
condition; I got the horse I had formerly left here, Badger, the one
whose pack had been on fire at the end of my last trip. I had decided
to make a start upon this expedition from a place known as Ross's
Water-hole in the Alberga Creek, at its junction with the Stevenson,
the Alberga being one of the principal tributaries of the Finke. The
position of Ross's Water-hole is in latitude 27 degrees 8' and
longitude 135 degrees 45', it lying 120 to 130 miles in latitude more
to the south than the Mount Olga of my first journey, which was a
point I was most desirous to reach. Having tried without success to
reach it from the north, I now intended to try from a more southerly
line. Ross's Water-hole is called ninety miles from the Peake, and we
arrived there without any difficulty. The nights now were exceedingly
cold, as it was near the end of July. When we arrived I left the
others in camp and rode myself to the Charlotte Waters, expecting to
get my old horse Cocky, and load him with 200 pounds of flour; but
when I arrived there, the creek water-hole was dry, and all the horses
running loose on the Finke. I got two black boys to go out and try to