We pushed on now for
Mount Olga, and camped in casuarina and triodia sandhills without
water. The night of the 5th June was very cold and windy; my only
remaining thermometer is not graduated below 36 degrees. The mercury
was down in the bulb this morning. Two horses straying delayed us, and
it was quite late at night when Mount Olga was reached. I was very
much pleased to see the little purling brook gurgling along its rocky
bed, and all the little basins full. The water, as when I last saw it,
ended where the solid rock fell off. The country all around was
excessively dry, and the grass withered, except in the channel of the
creek, where there was some a trifle green. From here I had a desire
to penetrate straight east to the Finke, as a considerable distance
upon that line was yet quite unknown. One of our horses, Formby, was
unwell, and very troublesome to drive. We are nearly at the end of our
stock of Tommy, and Formby is a candidate for the smoke-house that
will evidently be elected, though we have yet enough Tommy for another
week. While here, I rode round northward to inspect that side of this
singular and utterly unclimbable mountain. Our camp was at the south
face, under a mound which lay up against the highest mound of the
whole.
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