do not know the scientific name of that wonderful Australian tree which
saved my life, but believe it is well known to naturalists. I have heard
it called the "bottle tree," from the shape of the trunk. All through
that terrible night, while Yamba was far away searching for water, Bruno
had never left my side, looking into my face wistfully, and occasionally
licking my body sympathetically with his poor, parched tongue. Whilst I
was asleep the second time, Yamba went off with the dog in search of
food, and returned with a young opossum, which was soon frizzling in an
appetising way on a tripod of sticks over a blazing fire. I was able to
eat a little of the flesh, and we obtained all the water we wanted from
our wonderful tree. Of course, Yamba was unacquainted with the fact that
water was stored in its interior. As a rule, her instinct might be
depended upon implicitly; and even after years of her companionship I
used to be filled with wonder at the way in which she would track down
game and find honey. She would glance at a tree casually, and discern on
the bark certain minute scratches, which were quite invisible to me, even
when pointed out. She would then climb up like a monkey, and return to
the ground with a good-sized opossum, which would be roasted in its skin,
with many different varieties of delicious roots.

When I had quite recovered, Yamba told me she had walked many miles
during the night, and had finally discovered a water-hole in a new
country, for which she said we must make as soon as I was sufficiently
strong. Fortunately this did not take very long, and on reaching the
brink of the water-hole we camped beside it for several days, in order to
recuperate. I must say that the water we found here did not look very
inviting--it was, in fact, very slimy and green in colour; but by the
time we took our departure there was not a drop left. Yamba had a method
of filtration which excited my admiration. She dug another hole
alongside the one containing the water, leaving a few inches of earth
between them, through which the water would percolate, and collect in
hole perfectly filtered.

At other times, when no ordinary human being could detect the presence of
water, she would point out to me a little knob of clay on the ground in
an old dried-up water-hole. This, she told me, denoted the presence of a
frog, and she would at once thrust down a reed about eighteen inches
long, and invite me to suc