From Mount Udor to the shores of this lake the country had been continually falling.

The northern base of each ridge, as we travelled, seemed higher by many feet than the southern, and I had hoped to come upon something better than this.
I thought such a continued fall of country might lead to a considerable watercourse or freshwater basin; but this salt bog was dreadful, the more especially as it prevented me reaching the mountain which appeared so inviting beyond.
Not seeing any possibility of pushing south, and thinking after all it might not be so far round the lake to the west, I turned to where we had struck the first salt channel, and resolved to try what a more westerly line would produce.

The channel in question was now some fifteen miles away to the north-westward, and by the time we got back there the day was done and "the darkness had fallen from the wings of night." We had travelled nearly fifty miles, the horses were almost dead; the thermometer stood at 100 degrees in the shade when we rested under the quandongs.

In the night blankets were unendurable.

Had there been any food for them the horses could not eat for thirst, and were too much fatigued by yesterday's toil to go out of sight of our camping place.