s gradually to the north-west; it is of desert sandstone, and from
its summit, nearly due east, can be seen an imposing flat-topped hill,
which I named Mount Douglas, after my old friend and companion, to the
north of this hill two quaint little pinnacles stand up above the scrub to
a considerable height.

Poor Tommy was now getting very weak and had to be dragged by the last
camel. I had not ridden him since the second day from the Spring; he was
famished and worn to a skeleton. His allowance of two gallons a night had
continued, which made a considerable hole in our supply, further
diminished by the necessity of giving him damper to eat. Poor little pony!
It was a cruel sight to see him wandering from pack to pack in camp,
poking his nose into every possible opening, and even butting us with his
head as if to call attention to his dreadful state, which was only too
apparent. "While there's life there's hope," and every day took us nearer
to water--that is if we were to get any at all! So long as we could do so,
we must take Tommy with us, who might yet be saved. This, however, was not
to be, for on the 28th we again encountered sand-ridges, running at right
angles to our course, and these proved too hard for the poor brave
brumby. About midday he at last gave in, and with glazed eyes and stiff
limbs he fell to the ground. Taking off the saddle he carried, I knelt by
his head for a few minutes and could see there was no hope. Poor, faithful
friend! I felt like a murderer in doing it, but I knew it was the kindest
thing--and finished his sufferings with a bullet. There on the ridge, his
bones will lie for many a long day. Brave Tommy, whose rough and unkempt
exterior covered a heart that any warhorse might have envied, had covered
135 miles, without feed worth mentioning, and with only eleven gallons of
water during that distance, a stage of nearly seven days' duration of very
hard travelling indeed, with the weather pretty sultry, though the nights
were cool. His death, however, was in favour of our water supply, which
was not too abundant. So much had been lost by the bags knocking about on
the saddle, by their own pressure against the side of the saddle, and by
evaporation, that we had to content ourselves with a quart-potful between
us morning and evening--by no means a handsome allowance.

On the 29th, after travelling eight hours through scrubs, we were just
about to camp when the shrill "coo-oo" of a black-fellow