Nothing of a very interesting nature occurred during our journey up to the Peake, where we were welcomed by the Messrs.

Bagot at the Cattle Station, and Mr.Blood of the Telegraph Department.

Here we fixed up all our packs, sold Mr.Bagot the wagon, and bought horses and other things; we had now twenty packhorses and four riding ditto.

Here a short young man accosted me, and asked me if I did not remember him, saying at the same time that he was "Alf." I fancied I knew his face, but thought it was at the Peake that I had seen him, but he said, "Oh no, don't you remember Alf with Bagot's sheep at the north-west bend of the Murray?
my name's Alf Gibson, and I want to go out with you." I said, "Well, can you shoe?
can you ride?
can you starve?
can you go without water?
and how would you like to be speared by the blacks outside ?" He said he could do everything I had mentioned, and he wasn't afraid of the blacks.

He was not a man I would have picked out of a mob, but men were scarce, and as he seemed so anxious to come, and as I wanted somebody, I agreed to take him.