Bronze-winged pigeons also were occasionally startled as we wandered about the rocks; these birds must have water, but they never drink except at sundown, and occasionally just before sunrise, then they fly so swiftly, with unerring precision, on their filmy wings, to the place they know so well will supply them; and thirty, forty, or fifty miles of wretched scrub, that would take a poor human being and his horse a whole day to accomplish, are passed over with the quickness of thought.

The birds we flushed up would probably dart across the scrubs to the oasis we had so recently found.
Our horses were getting bad and thirsty; the day was warm; 92 degrees in the shade, in thirst and wretchedness, is hot enough, for any poor animal or man either.

But man enters these desolate regions to please himself or satisfy his desire for ambition to win for himself--what?
a medal, a record, a name?
Well, yes, dear reader, these may enter into his thoughts as parts of a tangible recognition of his labours; but a nobler idea also actuates him--either to find, for the benefit of those who come after him, some beauteous spots where they may dwell; or if these regions can't supply them, of deserts only can he tell; but the unfortunate lower is forced into such frightful privations to please the higher animals.

We now turned up towards the north-west, amongst scrubs, sandhills, and more stony ridges, where another fruitless search ended as before.

Now to the east of us rose a more continuous ridge, which we followed under its (base) foot, hoping against hope to meet some creek or gully with water.