I rode the 'Fair Maid of Perth.' I gave Gibson the big ambling horse, 'Badger,' and we packed the big cob with a pair of water-bags that contained twenty gallons.

As we rode away, I was telling Gibson about various exploring expeditions and their fate, and he said, 'How is it that, in all these exploring expeditions, a lot of people go and die ?' He said, 'I shouldn't like to die in this part of the country, anyhow.' "We presently had a meal of smoked horse.

It was late when we encamped, and the horses were much in want of water,--especially the big cob, who kept coming up to the camp all night and trying to get at our water-bags.
We had one small water-bag hung in a tree.
"I didn't think of that until my mare came straight up to it and took it in her teeth, forcing out the cork, and sending the water up, which we were both dying to drink, in a beautiful jet.

Gibson was now very sorry he had exchanged 'Badger' for the cob, as he found the latter very dull and heavy to get along.

There had been a hot wind from the north all day, and the following morning (the 23rd of April), there was a most strange dampness in the air, and I had a vague feeling, such as must have been felt by augurs and seers of old, who trembled as they told events to come; _for this was the last day on which I ever saw Gibson_.
"As Gibson came along after me, he called out that his horse was going to die.