One day whilst Yamba and I were passing through one of those eternal regions of sand-hills and spinifex which are the despair of the Australian explorer, I suddenly saw in the distance what I was certain was _a flock of sheep_.

There they were apparently--scores of them, browsing calmly in a depression in a fertile patch where most probably water existed.
In an instant the old desire to return to civilisation, which I had thought buried long ago, reasserted itself, and I dashed forward at full speed yelling back to Yamba, "Sheep, sheep--where sheep are, men are.
Civilisation at last!" When at length I had got near enough for the creatures to notice me, you may imagine my disgust and disappointment when quite a little forest of tall heads went high into the air, and _a flock of emus_ raced off across the country at full speed.

These huge birds had had their heads down feeding, and not unnaturally, in the distance, I had mistaken them for sheep.
I think every one is aware that prolonged droughts are of very common occurrence in Central Australia, and are mainly responsible for the migratory habits of the aborigines--particularly those of the remote deserts in the interior.

The most terrible drought I myself experienced whilst in my mountain home was one that extended over three years, when even the lagoon in front of my dwelling, which I had thought practically inexhaustible, dried up, with the most appalling results.

Just think--never a drop of rain falling for over three long years, with a scorching sun darting down its rays almost every day! During this terrible period the only moisture the parched earth received was in the form of the heavy dews that descended in the night.