The spring was running as strong as ever. The bridge had been
washed away. However, at less than a mile from it, there was Tyndall's
Spring, with an open shady space, among the clump of fine gum-trees,
which gave us an excellent camping-place. Here the camp remained for
some days. A line of green bulrushes fringed this spring. While the
main party camped here, I once more tried to find some remains or
traces of my lost companion Gibson, taking with me only Tommy Oldham.
It was quite a forlorn hope, as Gibson had gone away with only one
horse; and since we reached the range, we had passed over places where
I knew that all the horses I then had with me had gone over the
ground, but no signs of former horse-tracks could be seen, therefore
the chance of finding any traces of a single animal was infinitesimal.
Tommy and I expended three days in trying to discover traces, but it
was utterly useless, and we returned unsuccessful to the depot.
Singular to say, on this attempt I found a place west from the end,
the Rawlinson Range, where there were some rock-holes on a grassy
mulga flat, but we did not require the water, as the camels would not
drink. Had I come upon this spot when I was in this region before, it
might have saved Gibson and all the horses that were lost with him.
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