The Poor Old Lame Cow Followed As Usual, But Arrived At The Camp A Long While After Us.

The next day we progressed twenty-five miles to the westward, and at evening we tore through a piece of horrible scrub, or thickets, and arrived at the edge of a cliff which stood, perpendicularly, 200 feet over the surrounding country.

This we had to circumnavigate in order to descend.

Right on our course, being in the proper latitude, and twenty-seven or twenty-eight miles away, was a small hill, the object I had traversed so many hundreds of miles of desert to reach, and which I was delighted to know, was Mount Churchman. The country between the cliff and Mount Churchman was filled to overflowing with the densest of scrubs; Nature seemed to have tried how much of it she could possibly jam into this region. We encamped at the foot of the cliff. We got several Lowans' - or, as the West Australians call them, Gnows' - eggs, thirty yesterday, and forty-five to-day. At night the old lame cow did not arrive at the camp, nor was she with the mob the next morning; I wished her to remain at the Pigeon Rocks, but of course she persisted in following her kindred so long as she could, but now she has remained behind of her own accord, she will no doubt return there, and if she recovers will most probably go back to Beltana by herself, perhaps exploring a new line of country on the way.

(ILLUSTRATION: FIRST VIEW OF MT. CHURCHMAN.)

The following day we hoped to reach Mount Churchman, but the scrubs were so frightful we could not get there by night, though we travelled without stopping for twelve hours. To-day we got only twenty eggs. To-night and last night a slight dew fell, the first for a long time. Early on the morning of the 27th of October I stood upon the summit of Mount Churchman; and, though no mention whatever is made upon the chart of the existence of water there, we found a native well which supplied all our wants. In the afternoon some natives made their appearance; they were partly clothed. The party consisted of an oldish man, a very smart and good-looking young fellow, and a handsome little boy. The young fellow said his own name was Charlie, the boy's Albert, and the older one's Billy. It is said a good face is the best letter of introduction, but Charlie had a better one, as I had lost a little ivory-handled penknife on the road yesterday, and they had come across, and followed our tracks, and picked it up. Charlie, without a moment's questioning, brought it to me; he was too polite, too agreeable altogether, and evidently knew too much; he knew the country all the way to Perth, and also to Champion Bay. It occurred to me that he had been somebody's pet black boy, that had done something, and had bolted away.

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