I was sorry to think that the unfortunate
man's last sensible moments must have been embittered by the thought
that, as he had lost himself in the capacity of a messenger for my
relief, I too must necessarily fall a victim to his mishap.
I called this terrible region that lies between the Rawlinson Range
and the next permanent water that may eventually be found to the west,
Gibson's Desert, after this first white victim to its horrors.
Gibson, having had my horse, rode away in my saddle with my field
glasses attached; but everything was gone--man and horse alike
swallowed in this remorseless desert. The weather was cool at night,
even cold, for which I was most thankful, or we could not have
remained so long away from water. We consulted together, and could
only agree that unless we came across Gibson's remains by mid-day, we
must of necessity retreat, otherwise it would be at the loss of fresh
lives, human and equine, for as he was mounted on so excellent an
animal as the Fair Maid, on account of whose excellence I had chosen
her to ride, it seemed quite evident that this noble creature had
carried him only too well, and had been literally ridden to death,
having carried her rider too far from water ever to return, even if he
had known where it lay.
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