They had long since despaired of carrying out the original purpose of the expedition.

All that they could hope for was to struggle on with the last remaining flicker of life to the nearest settled country.

This was the Oakover River, on the north coast, and to the head of the Oakover, therefore, their worn-out camels were directed.
They could entertain no hope of relief before reaching the Oakover, for the discoverer of that river, Frank Gregory, a man always reluctant to acknowledge defeat, had been turned from the southward attempt by this very desert across which they were painfully toiling.

On the evening that they started for the station, the whole party were about to ride blindly on into waterless country, where, but for the black boy, they would all have perished.

The boy had left the camp early in the morning, and, having come across the fresh tracks of some natives, followed them up to their camp, where he found a well.