And They, Following Behind, Were A
Useless Burden; We Could Not Ride Them, And Yet For Their Sakes Our
Supply
Of water became less and less; we denied ourselves beef (which
meant at least a bucketful of water to boil
Out the salt) to keep them
alive; poor faithful things, none but curs could desert them while life
to move was left in their bodies. On the night of the 29th, for our own
safety, I could allow them no water, for so great had been the drain that
our tanks had but a few gallons left. The next was a day of
disappointments. All day we followed the same two tracks, from rock-hole
to rock-hole - all were dry as the sandstone in which Nature had placed
them. We could see where the blacks had scraped out the sand at the
bottom - if THEY could not find water, what chance had we? But every step
took us closer - that is the great consolation in such cases. First, have
perfect faith that water will eventually be found, then each forward move
becomes easy, for you know that you are so much nearer relief. Every dry
hole gives a greater chance that the next will be full.
Near one hole we came on a ceremonial or dancing ground - that is, a
cleared space in the mulga scrub, circular in shape, with a cleanly swept
floor, trodden down by many feet. In the centre stood a sort of altar of
branches and twigs.
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