While at work our clothes were damped with a sprinkling, but not
enough rain fell to leave any on the ground. It seemed evident I must
pack out water from Fort Mueller, if ever I reached the new feature,
as Nature evidently did not intend to assist, though it seemed
monstrous to have to do so, while the sky was so densely overcast and
black, and threatening thunderstorms coming up from all directions,
and carrying away, right over our heads, thousands of cubic acres of
water which must fall somewhere. I determined to wait a few days and
see the upshot of all these threatenings. To the east it was
undoubtedly raining, though to the west the sky was beautifully clear.
We returned to the native clay-pan, hoping rain might have fallen, but
it was drier than when we left it. The next morning the clear sky
showed that all the rains had departed. We deepened the native
clay-hole, and then left for the depot, and found some water in a
little hole about ten miles from it. We rested the horses while we dug
a tank, and drained all the water into it; not having a pickaxe, we
could not get down deep enough.
From here I intended to pack some water out north. While we were
digging, another thunderstorm came up, sprinkling us with a few drops
to show its contempt; it then split in halves, going respectively
north and south, apparently each dropping rain on the country they
passed over.
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