Chapter II: Part 2

With what anxiety, with what eagerness, did I examine my companion! And what blessings were poured upon it when it proved staunch still--save that the handle-bars had turned a little in the socket. Not until I had taken all this in did it occur to me that I could only limp myself.

Pitch dark now, and no hope of moving on. A little faint, too; yet with no drop to drink. The need to camp; yet no shelter.

But I was callously weary, and without difficulty persuaded myself that I really didn't much care: the morrow would see me somewhere else.

At present I judged we were somewhere about Irrappatana.

* * * *

We moved on at daybreak and reached William Creek before that depot was astir. Depot! Alas, there was no bread here and no flour, and no corn in William Creek! But at the "accommodation house" some dough was standing to rise; it would not be baked, though, till mid-day. My supplications prevailed, however; some of the dough was mixed up into an inedible batter, and cooked with some chops.

Without delay we detoured to Anna Creek, a sheep station, which was reached before noon. The proprietor's invitation to dinner was accepted; for wherefore had I come to Anna Creek? I was ravenous. And the tea! Strong, rich, milk-toned tea! A feast, a feast for the gods!

Such cups I had never seen. Cups which, once having been drunk from by a famishing cyclist, would ever after figure in his happiest dreams. "Not so very large," protested my liberal host, deprecatingly; "they each hold only a quart." Yet I remember being asked "Try a little more tea?" as the meal progressed, and--fancy having answered "Ah, thanks!"

* * * *

At the Anna Creek homestead interesting experiments in irrigation are being carried out. Water is pumped by a windmill into tanks fixed on an elevated platform over a well, and thence circulated through convenient iron piping all round the dwelling house, and into the garden. Fruit trees, grapes, melons, &c., are grown luxuriantly. An oasis in the desert. A fore-runner, it may be, of great things.

The track was fairly good for a few miles, as it had also been on the other side of Warrina; but soon it became bad again, and so continued all the way to Mount Dutton. The wind, as usual, was also unfavorable.

* * * *

Towards Warrina (615 miles from Adelaide) there are some picturesque spots along the creek, going northwards. Then the track again becomes terribly stony--so demoniacally vile that, although I riskingly "cantered" over much of it, saying fervently in my bitterness "Get thee behind me," I nevertheless failed to reach Warrina that night.

Diamond was now little less than animate, and there really seemed need of excuses to it for my rough manner of proceeding. It might be best for both of us, in the long run, if it was severely tested before we left the vicinity of our cheery friends, the iron rails, I remarked propitiatingly; then fondly fed its bearings (of me and my fortunes also, I reflected) with an extra drop of soothing neatsfoot oil.

We camped at some deserted huts, foodless, yet contented--thanks to Anna Creek. And at 9.30 next morning the voucher book was signed at Warrina.

After leaving Warrina the track keeps close by the railway line; and a ganger, who was starting out on his tricycle, obligingly offered to give the bicycle and me a lift for a mile or two. This was my second and last chance to avail myself of such a suggestion. Of course, in view of my fixed determination, I again gratefully declined to act upon it.

At Algebuckina I said good-bye to the last of the "travelling gangs"; and a quarter of a mile on led Diamond over the high and otherwise remarkable bridge which spans Neale's River--a bridge said to be the longest in South Australia. Built of iron, 1900 ft. from end to end, in nineteen spans of one hundred feet each.

Please don't write to say that the Murray Bridge is longer: it may be.

At Mount Dutton railway siding is a most excellently-finished ground tank of fresh water. The road also from here to Wondellina is excellent. (To this latter homestead I had been advised to now shape a course.) Here at Wondellina are several natural springs of water, fresh as the memory of the station manager's welcome; bountiful as his splendid hospitality.

My intentions were well known now; and in view of that, and because of the handsome treatment which I had latterly received on the strength of the enterprise in which I was engaged, I felt that, no matter what happened, I could not turn back now. So reflecting I rode to Oodnadatta, tormented by the flies that by this time had almost blinded me. So it was "Spell-oh!" for four or five days to court recovery.

* * * *

Oodnadatta, the (some-day-to-be) Transcontinental Railway Terminus, is distant 688 miles from Adelaide. The township becomes visible, as a speck on a vast plain, long before the traveller arrives at it. It contains, besides a few dwelling houses, a fairly commodious hotel, two general stores, a smithy, and a butcher's shop. The water from the artesian bore, about half a mile out, is quite drinkable, and is said to possess curative properties. A small creek is formed by the overflow, wherein, as the water reaches the surface at a very high temperature, a resident or visitor may indulge in a hot, tepid or cold bath at his pleasure.

Some people have termed Oodnadatta "a howling wilderness." But to-day the wilderness is hidden beneath a carpet of upspringing green.

Camels and Afghans are amongst its distinguishing features. Most of the whites are horsey or camely men. I heard some swearing.

Blackfellows are numerous; some of them are employed to perform menial duties at the houses in the township. Lubras make at the most two garments (one covering the upper, the other the lower parts of the body) suffice for a complete costume. There are always several wurlies and camps of blacks in the vicinity. The employed blacks share their wages, tobacco, old clothes, and tucker with the unemployed; the latter also providing further for themselves as best they can.

* * * *

Caterpillars were plentiful. The blacks gather up tins full, and, roasting them, evolve a very succulent dish. A small nut-like root, found wherever grass was growing, was also greatly sought after. As they walk along the lubras are continually stooping, or darting ahead or aside to pick up something--lizards, caterpillars, seeds, roots, eatables of various kinds, which they secrete or stow away in pouches, pockets, or tin cans. The male nigger prefers to stay at home and keep the fire alight.

From Oodnadatta northwards niggers are to be seen wherever white men are, as well as at intermediate places.

The clothes worn by them become fewer by degrees if not beautifully less the farther inland one proceeds.

I am told that the subject of their conversation, and that which causes most of the laughter so common among them, is generally of a filthy character and with an immoral tendency. One would fancy the poor animals could find but little to laugh about in their miserable nomadic lives; but they are so easily made to giggle that one is driven to the conclusion that their natural humour is of the most elementary type.

* * * *

A council of the dusky ones called here to adjudicate upon my chances of getting through to Darwin arrived at the following decision:--"Wild blackfellow big one frightened. Him think it debble-debble an' run away all right. One time 'nother one think it (the bicycle) debble-debble, and throw it spear."

I had a look at some spears later on, and perceived how easily one of them might be so driven in as to puncture a fellow's tyre.

* * * *

Most of the inhabitants seemed to rather pity my case. They were of opinion I might, if determined succeed in reaching Alice Springs, in the MacDonnell ranges--and there find myself cornered. The district doctor (a gentleman well spoken of and respected by all) rather seriously advised me: "Be careful. Think well before you venture beyond 'The Alice.'"

But the time for thinking had passed; and I left Oodnadatta, though not in the best of spirits, with my eyes still weak, and with very hazy notions indeed of what there might be awaiting me in the country beyond.

* * * *

To Macumba the track, with the exception of a few miles of sand to finish up with, is fair for cycling on--low stony tablelands and a few small hills. The channel of the Alberga River is wide, sandy, and lined with healthy-looking gum trees. Water is generally to be found in the Stevenson River--another large gum-lined creek, on the northernmost bank of which Macumba store is situated.

This place is only 38 miles from Oodnadatta, but I remained here an afternoon and night, as there was prospect of gathering information as to the route. An obliging teamster who knew the country well worked out and presented me with a very useful map.

From here up everyone knows everybody else for hundreds of miles around; and no one has a large circle of acquaintance, even then.

* * * *

In the neighbourhood of Macumba snakes and snake-tracks are much in evidence. Between the Strangways sandhills and Alice Springs I rode over at the very least half a dozen reptiles. Each one acted in a way peculiar to its species or its mood, so that the traveller, not knowing in any case what may happen next, has the spice of excitement added to his journeyings. Yet no doubt one might pass through, and see no snakes at all. For many months of the year they are in hiding. The weather and the season must be propitious else they do not appear.

On leaving Macumba, continuing along by the Stevenson, sandy flats and low sandhills were encountered as far as the Government well (The Willow), 14 miles on. So also to the next well, Oolaballana (16 miles). Then very rough stony tablelands again.

* * * *

After getting out of the sand at a point where a branch track turns off to Dalhousie, I came upon one of that station's horse-teams. A midday meal was being prepared. There were two strapping blackfellows and a white boy whom I took to be 13 or 14 years of age. A wheat sack had been laid upon the ground, and on it had been placed a damper, corned beef, jam, knife and fork, and a pannikin. Saying "good-day" to the juvenile, I sat myself beside him. The niggers, gaping open-mouthed at the machine, were squatting in the shade of an adjacent tree. Three quart pots were standing pressed in against the burning wood of a newly lighted fire.

"Where's the boss?" I inquired after a few words.

The youth smiled. "I am the boss," he said, reaching an arm out towards a small linen tea bag, then standing up to throw half a handful into each quart pot. Cutting off a few slices from the damper, and sorting out "black's favorite" pieces of meat, he gave a low short whistle--and up marched the two sable attendants. To these he handed each his dole of "tucker"; they received it in sober silence.

"You wantem more, you sing out," he added as, taking with them two of the quart pots, they returned to their proper distance.

This custom of handing the blacks their allowance of food, or laying it on the ground and whistling for them to come and take it, prevails all through the country.

I admired this manly child's way exceedingly. In "bossing" them he spoke very civilly to the niggers, in a quiet, cool, masterful manner. He offered to load me up with bread and meat, but as I had resolved to break myself in to going on short commons I would accept nothing more than a couple of apples. The dray, I believe, had been down to Oodnadatta.

* * * *

"It's rough to Blood's Creek. I don't think you'll get there to-night," were the youth's parting words.

And he was right. It was a sweltering hot afternoon. Progress was slow; and at about 20 miles having to hurriedly dismount (for the hundredth time), my left foot came on one of the large loose stones, and turned under me. The jar so nearly put out the ankle joint that I was compelled to camp right where the mishap occurred.

Stretching out my sheet of waterproofing I made myself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Millions of flies; myriads of venomous mosquitoes. Hungry as usual, and feeling that if I had only one good long drink of water, hot, cold or lukewarm, I could die joyfully.

Waterproof sheeting is not conducive to good health especially if the night be cold. Because of the heat from one's body condensation sets in, with the result that the under side of the sheeting becomes a sheet of water. This discovery I made for myself on arising next morning; turning the waterproof over quickly, I greedily licked up, cat-like, all I could of the precious dew.

* * * *

To Blood's Creek Government Bore (38 miles from last camping place), sand ridges and very rough "gibber" country has to be cycled or walked over; but on nearing the creek the track greatly improves.

Thus far, gidea and mulga have been the trees most often met with, though the creeks have almost invariably been thickly lined with box and gum.

* * * *

Camped with the contractors for the bore, and overhauled the bicycle, though all the overhauling called for was the cleaning of the bearings. This I did by squirting kerosene through the lubricating holes, tilting the machine at a sharp angle, and revolving the wheels until the searching fluid had completed its cleansing work.

When the wheels are nicely adjusted, and the chain is at just the proper tension, and everything is running smoothly, it is a mistake to undo the parts. A good chain properly adjusted should ask for but very few attentions. I used to not take mine off, and only washed it occasionally with soap and warm water--leaning the bicycle well over so that the grease should not fall on the tyres. It worked best after a little greasy residue had collected around the sprocket.

I tore apart and re-made the joint in the air tube of the tyre, as it had started to leak slightly. Because of the hot sand and the heat generally, the solution in the tube joints rots away, providing a source of much annoyance, as such a leak is difficult to stop.

* * * *

It is 60 miles from Blood's Creek to Goyder's Well. The "going" is good to Charlotte Waters; thence along the telegraph line for 14 miles through heavy sand, next 6 miles of stony hills, followed by 6 miles of good track over Boggy Flat, and, lastly, 4 miles of small sand-hills. There is a better road to the west from the Charlotte, they say.

The Adminga is reached half-way between Blood's Creek and Charlotte Waters. Hard by the crossing there is a beautiful little pond of clear, cool rain-water--a deep, round hole sunk in the solid rock, with one large leafy tree leaning out over it, and sheltering it from lapping winds and sun alike.

* * * *

We are into the Northern Territory at last.

The Charlotte Waters telegraph station on the Transcontinental line (a large galvanized iron structure, close by which stand many small sheds and outhouses) is situated six miles across the border, on a slight elevation on the north boundary of the stony tablelands. From there horsemen coming from the south can be seen, with the aid of a telescope, while yet they are at a distance of seven miles.

It is no uncommon thing here for the thermometer to register as high as 124deg. in the shade for several days together. The annual rainfall averages about five inches. Many iron tanks, connected and standing at one end of the building, are filled from the waterholes of an adjacent creek in the rare times of plenty.

The voucher book was signed, and at once a start was made.

And then a rather unpleasant experience befel. I intended making for Goyder Waters; a track, it had been said, could be easily followed, and so I made but few inquiries. There was a cattle station 20 miles beyond the Goyder--perhaps I could reach even that. It was a mistake, though, to keep alongside the telegraph line--a sad mistake. For five or six miles I struggled with my burden over loose sand-hills. Surely this was not the passable track travellers had spoken of! The Macumba teamster's sketch was consulted--why, I had not been on the track at any time since leaving Charlotte Waters!

How far the sand stretched I did not know--as far as could be seen, at any rate. A fierce sun tormented me from above and blistering sand from beneath. The track must be found. I fought through the yielding sand, now pushing and again shouldering and here and there riding my bicycle, in a grim earnestness rarely experienced before. In those first half-dozen miles I had been prodigal of a precious quart of water. Now I was becoming parched beyond endurance.

Fourteen miles had been struggled over. The telegraph line had been long since lost. Was even this the track?

And Goyder Waters! What did I know of Goyder Waters? It dawned upon me now that I did not know whether to look for a rock-hole, a soakage, or a creek.

Now rough, hilly country interposes. It is still hard work, and the night is nearing. My thighs ache, and my tongue cleaves to my mouth. Yet on, doggedly on--it is the only hope.

A well! How we race towards it. No--a maddening mockery; it is a fenced-in grave!

Did he die?--

But it is dangerous to think. On, on!

At length, in the deepening haze of the twilight, the real well is seen.

At such a moment one forgets the teachings of experience. I threw myself down, and drank, and drank.

* * * *

And so, though saved, made another stinging lash for my aching back. For I drank and drank until I found myself seized with the most dreadful cramps I have ever had the satisfaction of getting the better of. On trying to rise I was, somewhat to my amusement, unable to do so, as during the tussle one of my bootlaces had become entangled with the hooks of the other, and the recurring cramps would not allow me to reach down to undo it. So I had willy-nilly to lay quiet where I had fallen, ignominiously hobbled and _hors de combat_.

It would not be particularly difficult for one who does not know the country to perish hereabouts. Just take the wrong turning, or meet with a disabling accident, or lose the indistinct track, and in one single hot day the business may be done. Solitary graves are plentiful. When a man gets the bad taste in his mouth, and fancies he hears water flowing ripplingly over gravelly beds, he realizes how very simple a matter the perishing may be.

Towards the end a cyclist would leave his bicycle (now become a burden to him) while he staggered over to search what, from the distance, seemed a likely-looking place for water; and on coming back he would be lucky indeed if he could find again his silent steed. This second search would not be prosecuted coolly: madness would then quickly overtake the distracted seeker; he might drink from and bathe in imaginary streams, throw off his clothes to let the surging waters touch and cool his parched skin, but ever uppermost in his distorted fancies would be some form of his elusive bicycle.

* * * *

Crown Point, 20 miles from The Goyder; much sand, but a well-defined track. The last five miles fair for cycling on; but for nearly a mile along the bed of the Finke River (approaching Crown Point cattle station) is a terribly heavy white sand bed.

After my previous day's experiences in the sand I succeeded in crawling thus far before the next sundown, and remained for the whole of another day before proceeding onwards. At the Crown Point station I fed, I fear, like a wolf.

How soon the drooping spirits revive! I set out for Horseshoe Bend hopefully, even gaily.

Crown Point station is so named because of its propinquity to a hill about 350 feet high, of sugar-loaf shape, surmounted by something not unlike a crown.

West of this crowned point is a long, low, stony and unused saddle; then again a hill of about the same height as the Crown and of similar strata--white and brown desert sandstone. Apparently the formations were one in times long past.

The Finke channel passes to the east of both Crown Hill and station. The river here is thickly fringed with giant gums, which grow for some hundreds of feet in from the bank proper. Swamp gums, box trees, and acacias are plentiful also further out. In width it varies from a quarter to three-quarters of a mile. In times of drought famished horses have been known to paw down and down into the loose sand in the bed, searching for soakage water, until they have made graves for themselves.

Around Crown Point the cyclist need not look for thorns. He will find them without a search.

A marsupial mole (which some of the blacks named for me "el-comita," others "qu-monpita") may also be found here. The species is unique. It puts in an appearance after rain; at other times it burrows in the sand, and vanishes.

* * * *

Down from the cattle ranche by the river's bed, there are generally gathered a large number of natives, of the Larapinta or Arunto tribe. In the main camp many small tires burn, around which humble hearths the various families find already fashioned their unostentatious and separate homes. They sleep huddled up with the family dogs, close by the fires, but without a vestige of covering or shelter except their scanty every-day attire.

They appear to be quite happy, and are presented with cancerous bullocks now and then from travelling mobs, and others.

Nightly one hears the sound of their laughter, mingled with weird cries, monotonous chantings, and beating of tom-toms, or sticks upon the ground. They think themselves very clever if they succeed in working up an echo. When ferreted out, the discoverer claims it as his very own, and the others listen in admiring silence whilst he works the "wondrous vocal gift" for much more than 'tis worth.

I was surprised to notice that the niggers' hands and feet were not particularly large. The heels, though, are roughened, hardened, and split like battered and blackened pieces of corrugated iron. The soles are apparently made out of rhinoceros hide. "Three cornered jacks" only tickle them--even when they happen to sit down on the spiky abominations.

* * * *

One black, an "old hand" at the station, but transported from somewhere afar off, inveighed in good, angular Whitechapel English, pidgin-ised, against the fool blackfeller who sit down alonga here!

Wherefore was it, if he had such a very poor opinion of them, that he remained among them?

He withered me with the contempt that was in his answer.

"No can make it rain!"

In his country--a majestic wave of the hand indicated where that was--if the porter at Heaven's flood-gates went to sleep or forgot to open them within a reasonable time, certain old men jumped up and walked alonga blackfellows' camp, where they called in the aid of eagle-hawk's feathers, paint stripes, many fires and a good deal of fuss. And then--a big thing in corroborees: big one, plenty shout out. After the corroboree the "old men" and the other participators in it shifted their spears and boomerangs to high ground, built mia-mias, and waited. And when they had waited long enough the rain fell. "Sometimes piccaninny rain--one night corroboree. Big fellow corroboree? My word! B-i-g pfeller rain."

Should no rain fall the explanation was not far to seek. "Nudder" (opposition shop) "blackfeller hold it corroboree. Too much big pfeller noise make it, and frighten _him_ away."

What wouldn't some perturbed whitefellers give for so simple a philosophy!

* * * *

Horseshoe Bend, 28 miles from Crown Point. Mostly sand; very little riding. Here is a depôt and accommodation (meal-providing) house.

The depôt is picturesquely situated in a sharp bend of the Finke River. Rugged hills show up on all sides. In front, by the river's side, a well; and in the sandy bed itself, many nearly permanent soakages delight the casual traveller.

* * * *

Here it was that one of the encamped blacks on spying me rushed helter-skelter to the storekeeper to breathlessly inform him that whitefellow come along ridin' big one mosquito.

Previously blackfellows had described the bicycle as a "piccaninny engine." "Big pfeller engine come alonga bime-bye, I suppose?" questioned the blackfellow, having in mind a Transcontinental railway doubtless. "One-side buggy" had also been a native's not inapt description of the novel vehicle.

* * * *

The blacks (always camped near-by wherever white men linger) are of great help to the whites in dealing with horses and cattle. Their cleverness at tracking is well known. An illustration, out of the way.

At one of the very few houses between Oodnadatta and Alice Springs the proprietor brought three cats--three of about a like size--into the back room; told me the various names by which they were called to breakfast, and then requested me to drop one of them--any one of them I chose--through the window. I did so to humour him, and off scampered pussy to a brush-shed over the way. Going outside, after shutting the window and locking the room door, the "boss" called loudly for "Billy." From the further side of the stock-yard's fence came a blackfellow.

"What name that fellow cat make it tracks?" the "boss" said, pointing to the very faintest marks.

A moment's scrutiny, and the blackfellow replied "That one Nelly me think it." And he was right.

* * * *

At the Horseshoe Bend depôt I purchased a water-bag (and a good one it was--lasted me all the way through) and a small billy-can, which served my purposes until I reached Alice Springs.

So far the sparse, low scrub on the sand flats and rises was chiefly acacia, of many varieties, while clumps of mulga marked the firmer soil. Spinifex (not of such coarse growth. I fancy, as what in other places is known as "porcupine") was everywhere. The track through the sand gets so badly cut up that when walking one keeps well in to where a thin crust may be left, and finds oneself steering a very erratic course. Beyond the Bend we reach the first desert oak--a very good shade tree, with from 10 to 15 feet of straight stem. The wood is very hard and heavy; one can hardly drive a nail into it.

At Oodnadatta we left the regularly fenced country. Apparently one may here take up for grazing purposes a hundred acres, and use a hundred thousand.

No sheep beyond Oodnadatta either. Beef and goat's flesh is the vogue. The goat's flesh is called "mutton."

* * * *

To Depot Well, 15 miles from Horseshoe Bend; no riding--heavy sandhills. Stopped at a camel camp. Fifteen miles is not much of a distance certainly; but on a hot day (as all days up in this part appear to be) to not lead, but get behind and push, the bicycle through, with the surety of more to-morrow, and for days to come--Diamond and I agreed that it was a "fair thing."

These drift sand-hills--red, loose, and sometimes very steep indeed--make travelling, no matter how one may creep, very wearisome and laborious. When you have struggled to the summit of one of them you take a view of the surroundings. As far as the eye can see (and, alas! very much further) an unbroken stretch of the same formation. You wade ankle deep on descending; and when pushing a bicycle up you have to "tack," planting each foot sideways in the sand to get the necessary grip. I was glad I had provided myself with boots instead of shoes.

Broom-brush, spinifex, and desert oaks (these at long intervals) alone break the burdensome monotony.

* * * *

Only soon after a heavy rainfall could much riding be done in those sandy districts. Two-inch tyres should be used; inch and three-quarters are too narrow. Mine, as well as being one and three-quarter inches only, were "tandem"--altogether too heavy (or "dead") for cycling over sand. I deflated them slightly, so that a wider surface might be availed of.

* * * *

Picked up a bush culinary wrinkle here. An Afghan, whom I watched kneading up flour preparatory to shaping out a camp-oven damper, made a sodden centre, the curse of many a "bush cake," impossible by the simple expedient of pressing the middle part down until scarcely any centre remained--nothing more than a thin layer, which must necessarily result in a central crust.

* * * *

It is a twenty mile stage from the Depot Well to Alice Well, through much sand. The Hugh River crosses the track in half-a-dozen places.

In the afternoon, when within a few miles of this Well, I came unexpectedly upon a loaded waggon stuck in one of the last crossings of the Hugh. A very steep bank rose at the farther side, up which the horses had been unable to pull their load. The harness was lying on the ground, piled up; but there was no sign, except tracks, of the horses or their drivers. I coo-eed and mounted on top of the load to look around--and then, in the midst of this desert, from the interior of a coverless box, embedded between two flour bags, smiled up at me seductively a dozen or more beautiful, although quite rotten and shrivelled, apples! I lifted one out, and to ease my conscience, remembering having heard that there was a blacks' mission station to the east, stood, and, naturally assuming that the loading was missionaries' property, put down a shilling in the apple's place. But tasting one only was worse than not having any at all; so, coward-like, I sprang from the waggon, mounted Diamond, and hurried away before the temptation to appropriate a down-south shilling's-worth of the luscious (because so rotten) fruit became irresistible.

At the Alice is another "accommodation house," which, however, I did not need to visit; for the horse drivers, from whose waggon I had been tempted to take the shilling's-worth of apples, were here giving the horses a "spell." They fed me liberally; but I said nothing to them about the apple.

The Hugh is a very large, sandy-bedded creek. The banks are heavily timbered with massive gum trees. Good camel and horse feed grows in this part of the country--a species of acacia, and a succulent sage-bush-like herb.

* * * *

To Francis Well, the next 20 miles, is mostly through sand. Here are some niggers who keep the troughs full of water on the chance of passing teamsters supplying them with tobacco or small lots of flour. The mail passes every three weeks, once going down to Oodnadatta, the next time returning to Alice Springs; and the mail horses for the change are running here.

The well, sunk at the junction of the Francis Creek and the Hugh, contains beautiful fresh water. Black cockatoos flutter among the branches of giant gums which mark the meeting of the waters--flutter and squawk incessantly. And now and again, too, one catches sight of the gaudier galah or the gay ring-necked parrot.

At one of these wells the bucket was too heavy for me to land unaided from the deep bottom. Here was another annoyance, if nothing worse. I was desperately thirsty. The water glittered tantalizingly in sight. Ha! An empty bucket at the surface. I half-filled it with stones, and it obligingly went down and gave me all the assistance I wanted in weighing its companion up. Afterwards, at shallower wells, I tied the cord I carried to my billy-can, and so supplied my modest wants.

* * * *

By climbing the higher of the hills which are to be seen after you pass Francis Well, the remarkable column known as Chambers' Pillar rises afar off in the midst of sandhills to the west. It looks like a mighty furnace-stack built upon a hill top: the hill about 100 feet high, the Pillar another hundred. But the soft desert sandstone of which it is composed is fast wearing away. This still majestic landmark, a solitary sentinel guarding the heart of a continent--its days are numbered in the book of Time.

* * * *

Camels do nearly all the carrying in this country; and at Francis Well a caravan was camped. A white man was in charge. I do not know how the stranger fares at the hands of an Afghan, but the few white men I met along the road at halting places between Oodnadatta and Alice Springs were without exception most generously hospitable and most kindly-dispositioned. All did what they could--by more or less clear directions anent the route; by supplying me with food and inviting me to "spell" with them if they were "spelling"--to make my journey a partly enjoyable as well as a successful one. I gratefully admit how largely I am indebted to one and all of them.

From Hergott to Alice Springs the population is grouped under three generic headings--"Whites," "Afghans," and "Blackfellows." The loftier Afghan sometimes scornfully denies that he is of our color. I have heard it asked of a Jemadar--"What name fellow drive so-and-so's camels along to Birdsville? Whitefellow?" and I have heard him answer: "No, _not whitefellow_. Afghan-man _boss_ go las' time." Beyond the MacDonnell Ranges the Afghan and his camel disappear, and are neither seen nor heard of more. There is a no-man's land; then, further northward, the vacant place is filled by Chinamen.

It is both interesting and amusing to listen while Afghans and blacks or blackfellows and Chinamen converse. Not that they make a practice of so indulging; there are entirely too many vernacular difficulties in their way.

One such attempt at conversation was suggestive to me of two blind men who, getting drunk together, led one another up wrong turnings, until, after a final and protracted endeavour to get back to anywhere near the starting point, they found themselves both hopelessly lost.

Each has a way peculiar to his class of directing that luckless traveller who may be so ignorant as to make enquiries of him.

You ask an Afghan how many miles it is to a certain place. He slyly leads you on to make a guess for yourself--and at once cheerfully agrees. "Yes, ten mile," or whatever it may be the other has suggested.

The blackfellow tells you vaguely that the certain place is "L-aw-ong way," "Ova that a way," or "Byen bye you catch 'em all right."

The Chinaman listens very politely to all the questions you put to him, and then remarks with his most guileless smile, "No savee."

Still some white men's directions are not very lucid. One, for example, will say, "When you come to there look out for a small stony hill _to the right_," waving, as he says, the left hand from him. Also East is spoken of when West is similarly indicated. Others, again, expect a fellow to perform mental gymnastics. One will clear and level a small space upon the ground to serve as a blackboard. He begins, "Now, we'll put it, here's North--" and draws a line pointing due South.

* * * *

Mount Breadin Dam is another 20 miles from Francis Well. The track is fair for cycling over. Camped somewhere in the scrub. Dry sand makes a fairly comfortable blanket.

Desert oaks had for the last few days been frequently met with, growing singly or in groves. The wind soughs through the foliage--like the music of rushing, seething water in some distant creek.

Water, always water! Thitherward one's thoughts here ever fly; upon memories of it one lingers with the utmost fondness.

As I struggle on and on, deeper and deeper into the toils of the desert, there grows upon me a morbid dread of running short of water. To have it was my greatest craving; to have plenty of it my chief aim.

The wind is mostly in my teeth, but that is of small consequence now that I am content to creep over these interminable wastes.

* * * *

Everybody carries a bottle of eye-water. Sore eyes are very prevalent in this sandy country. The flies had it pretty well all their own way with me down by the Goyder; so now I also have had to procure a small bottle. A depôt would not be a depôt without a stock of it.

* * * *

By noon Diamond had borne me to the Deep Well and its "accommodation house." Having obtained some provisions, we pushed on and camped that night some 15 miles ahead. Deep Well is in flat sandy country, in a valley of the James Range. As it is about 200 feet deep, the water is drawn by bullocks attached to a "whip." The surrounding country is lightly stocked with cattle and goats. The well itself is rented from the Government, and a small charge is made for the water.

Between here and Alice Springs another well is badly wanted. Another well--or, better, two. This absence of, or long distance between, waters is a well-founded matter for complaint with the teamsters or team owners, and must impose great hardships on anyone whom business--or "eccentricity"--may prevail on to travel hither.

At the very best the life of the teamsters on these far-inland tracks is full of misery and hardship. That anyone should voluntarily go overlanding they cannot comprehend. Here I am asked in astonished curiosity what I am going through the continent for. It must be for a bet! I can only answer that I am going with much the same object in view as a hen is said to have when she walks across a road--just to reach the other side.

* * * *

The flies refrained from tackling a couple of very highly-greased aboriginals whom I spoke to at the Deep Well. They had burnished themselves with a thick oil, derived from animal fat, no doubt. Each on-coming fly, when within six inches of the glossy surface, shot off at a right angle, as though it had run its head into an invisible stone wall. Now and again one could be seen to drop slightly, as if stunned. I do not think the oil-skin they wore was of good quality.

This couple were disposed to approach too unpleasantly close whilst I was re-inflating one of the tyres. Suddenly undoing the pump, I vigorously squirted fresh air at them. The blast pierced the special atmosphere in which they had so long moved; the fresh air came as a shock to them, and they were careful not to venture within range of so deadly a weapon any more.

The flies, I think, trouble the blackfellows more than the whites. A blackfellow's hand is constantly passing across his face to drive the pestering things away; or they protect themselves by starting a small fire and sitting at the smoky side of it.

* * * *

From the Deep Well, sandhills and sandflats extend northwards for about 20 miles. Then a large range is encountered, through which the cyclist may ride until he reaches a steep incline well known as The Pinch. Here the track goes over a high ridge by way of a narrow cutting through the rock.

Granite hills now hem us in, but soon we enter a narrow pass between two long and wall-like rock formations. This is Hell's Gate. We hurry through. The track now passes over well-grassed sandy flats, which make good riding. At about eight miles a big hill rises to the right. Opposite a pad branches off to the left.

A welcome break, guiding the thirsty or curious follower to the rockhole, the Ooriminna. Right into the heart of a range this pad takes one. Very soon the cyclist will find either leading or pushing his machine to be out of the question. However others may manage (for the bicycle will be everywhere in time), I stooped and shouldered mine. And how its bright parts sparkled with ill-contained inward joy, I persuaded myself, whenever it was thus borne along the tedious way! Now, with it held aloft, I walked or scrambled and climbed over the last and rougher part of the two miles to the water.

* * * *

Very weird is this Ooriminna. It is a citadel of Desolation strongly guarded; and how the hole was first discovered must for ever be to us a mystery. Judging from the surroundings, horses or men could hardly have thought to find water here. And but for water what man or beast would pierce these solitudes?

The hole is formed in an extremely rocky gorge of the range. Huge boulders heaped up in strange fantastic shapes, the counterpart in miniature of castles, fortresses, and towers, stand gaunt and frowning, or threatening to fall precipitately, above, below, and on the more open side. The hole itself is almost a circle; it is probably 20 feet in depth and 25 feet across. Above it, at the back, always in deepest shadow, are several small caves, wherein are native drawings--rude as the scribblings of a schoolboy in his snatched moments--of snakes and hands and things beyond this pen's power to name. From over these caves the water falls when the rains come.

The rocks are an unkindly-looking grey, spotted mixtures of granite, quartz, and sandstone.

Still higher up the quickly-rising gorge is a second rockhole, a smaller one. Approaching from the southern entrance I first came on this one--inaccessible to horses and camels--and only saw the larger rockhole as I descended, with bicycle still shouldered, trudging on to strike the road which leads to Alice Springs, from which this Ooriminna pad loops out and back again.

* * * *

After getting clear of the Ooriminna rocks there are four or five miles of sand, low lying between the ranges; and now, at last, the cyclist finds awaiting him a splendidly smooth and hard clay flat, stretching right away for over 20 miles to the already faintly outlined MacDonnell ranges.

The track soon enters and winds through densely packed and tropically-foliaged scrub, with here and there a small clear space suddenly opening out in front. At the moment of entering each of these recurring spaces one may discern the fast uprising and darkening blue of distant mountains--and again the obscuring scrub envelopes bicycle and rider.

After the stories he will have been told, the cyclist, should he be a stranger and alone, will surely throw a glance to one side and to the other--ahead, too, as he turns each of the numerous sharp angles--in half-timid and half-hopeful expectation of seeing start out or up to intercept him a score or two of spear-brandishing and yelling bogie men. And he will almost certainly be disappointed.

* * * *

One who comes upon this mountain wall from the long plains of the south cannot with a single sweep of the eye take in its mightiness. To right and left it holds its course until its purple outlines are bathed in haze, become a mere faint streak, and finally are blotted out. But far behind that gaudily-tinted curtain of sky, which forms the strange horizon of these inlands, this range extends, a steep, austere wall of rock, rising almost perpendicularly from the plain four hundred miles from east to west.

A gap in this mighty wall of rock becomes clearly defined by the time one reaches the bank of a wide creek, with a bed of white sand, which takes its course in the heart of the ranges, and is well known as The Todd. Following up this watercourse for a few miles, the gap through which it comes, the Heavitree, is reached.

The distance through the Heavitree is about 200 yards. The creek's sand-bed spreads right across between the high, bare, sharply-cut mountain sides. The road crosses the Todd at the same time as both pass through the Heavitree Gap; then runs along by its eastern flat bank among the ranges, until three miles onward the buildings at Alice Springs township come into view.

* * * *

A sheltered, peaceful, cosy-looking place, this isolated Alice Springs. On a flat, with large gums scattered through and all around it, and mountains towering up a very little distance off on every side. There are two clusters of houses. One comprises the hotel-cum-brewery, a smithy, and a general store; the other can boast of two stores, a harness-maker's, an often-vacant butcher's shop, and a private dwelling-house. Both clusters are snugly ensconced, hidden among the very numerous gum trees with which the whole flat is dotted; between them some particularly high and shady trees give shelter to the township stock. Cattle are ever to be seen reposefully cud-chewing during the hotter portions of the semi-tropical days.

All shade and silence and tranquility! It seemed as I came upon it to be the veritable "Sleepy Hollow" of romance, with appropriate Catskill-y surroundings, too.

The supplies for Arltunga goldfields, the mica fields, neighboring horse-station and cattle ranches, and the telegraph stations up north, all pass through here.

It is a terminus of townships; beyond it lies the undeveloped.

* * * *

Arltunga is only in its earliest infancy, and is sadly handicapped. But then one is assured "There's any Scotch quantity of reefs about," and "The country hasn't been half prospected yet." Country, by the way, never is, it seems.

The mica field, on the other hand, arrived some time back at a working age. It has, as it were, bought its shovel and done a little towards paying for it. Some mica of good quality, and in exceptionally large sheets, too, is to be had.

I know little or nothing about the value of a mica claim; do not even know whither when raised the shiny transparency goes. Much is, I know, used for insulating purposes on electrical machines, but in such cases only small washers are required as a rule. As to the larger blocks, so attractive to the eye when prepared for exhibition, ignorance possesses me.

If one has the inclination one may, however, learn a great deal about it, if one likes to run up to Alice Springs. In search of information (and no policeman being handy), I approached a prospector. He was an encylopædia on the subject. Within five minutes I knew that lawyers now-a-days wrote out their wills and other people's on mica because it will not burn, and that lanterns for enclosing electric arc lights are fitted with the same material in place of glass, the heat (sometimes reaching as high as 10 or 12 horse-power) emanating from the electric light being altogether too fierce for combustible glass to withstand! If I had stayed another day in Alice Springs, I should have written a treatise on "Mica and its Uses."

* * * *

The telegraph station is a mile and a half beyond the Alice township, and with its substantial roomy stone buildings and outhouses makes up another little township of itself. Near the station there is in the Todd a very large waterhole, which contains a sufficient permanent and unlimited supply of fresh water to deserve the name of spring. There are also a couple of wells on a bank of the creek; the water of one of them is used for gardening purposes, the other's, I was told, is almost salt.

The flat around the station is, like nearly all the flats within the ranges, covered with saltbush and other stock-fattening growth. Grasses of many valuable kinds flourish thickly in the hills and gullies--in fact, no better limited tracts of pastoral country could one wish to see than are to be found within and in the neighborhood of these MacDonnell Ranges.

The climate, too, is nearly all that could be desired throughout the greater part of each year. The days are warm, the nights cool--a little too much warmth sometimes, at others a little too much cold.

White people seem to live there as much for the purpose of making strangers welcome as to amass money in a leisurely fashion, and black people are more plentiful than gooseberries. Physically the natives to be seen about are very good samples of aboriginalty. As at Oodnadatta, the female blacks do most of the washing and general domestic work for the townspeople, and of course the male blackfellows are invaluable to those of the score of settlers who do much dealing in horses or cattle.

In this quaint spot, and amongst this hospitable community, I remained for several days. There were many "gaps," sheltered waterholes, and other interesting spots to be visited, and every man in the place came forward with hearty offers to be my cicerone. Having been so long unused to opportunities for gormandizing--unused, too, to sleeping between sheets on flock mattresses--the hotel and those good things which it contained exercised strong magnetic attractions.

Inquiries about the road ahead were pursued diligently, and an operator at the telegraph station (obliging and considerate, as they all were) sketched out for me an artistic and lucid plan of the route so far as Barrow Creek. Armed with this plan, and loaded with provisions, the "condition" I had put on during my few days' stay, a water-bag, a quart pot, tools, and various other things, including a light parcel of meat extract, Diamond and I one fine forenoon started out over the mountains, thence on to the exterior desert, with the enticing prospect of I-didn't-know-what before me.

Having come so far without hurt worth speaking of, and with the kindest words of encouragement from the people here, I felt sanguine of being able to make a fair show at the business thus far only half transacted.

* * * *

The township was out to say good-bye! Of the number was the telegraph master, a genial officer who, in addition to controlling this most important repeating station on that Transcontinental line which links Australia and Europe, has acquired during a long residence a profound knowledge of the aborigines of Central Australia, their languages, their customs, and their folk-lore. He had with him his camera; and later on, when (myself all unconscious of it) "Murif's Ride Across Australia" headed many a paragraph and sketch, there appeared in one of the Adelaide papers, beneath a drawing, this brief account, reproduced here as showing how others on the scene viewed the enterprise at this stage, after the capabilities of the machine had been in part demonstrated. It is described as the expression of "Our Alice Springs correspondent":--

"The above snapshot was taken on Monday morning, April 13, just as Murif was about to begin the second half of his great undertaking. Up to that date he had travelled over 1,130 miles, the latter part of the journey being anything but pleasant from a cyclist's point of view. There were many obstacles to overcome in the shape of miles of rough stony road, especially the 'gibbers,' near Charlotte Waters. Three-cornered Jacks are another enemy to the cyclist; also miles of sand, which affords splendid exercise and gave Murif a chance to develop the muscles of his arms by pushing his machine, it being impossible to pedal over the sand.

"Murif's greatest piece of luck was noticed by me whilst out riding some forty miles from here. I was looking down at Murif's track, and saw where he had left the road to escape a stump and ran across a piece of brandy case with three large nails standing point upwards. His tyre missed these by half an inch. After passing an obstacle of that description, his luck must carry him over the remaining thousand odd miles safely.

"There are still many dangers he will have to steer clear of whilst travelling north of here. Stumps overgrown by grass will be one of his greatest enemies. A hard collision with one of these would mean serious damage to his machine, and the distance between the telegraph stations--the only place where he could repair a bad break--being some 200 miles, a mishap would prove serious to him. In places above Barrow's Creek, and _en route_, he will find the spear-grass very troublesome, and a cuirass would prove very beneficial to him while travelling through it to keep the seeds, which are long and very sharp, from penetrating his body.