410 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept, ii, 1909. 
in Arabic, gazing on the moon while he turned 
and twisted the sixpence in his fingers. Having 
finished praying he did not forget to return 
the coin. 
Joe might have said some prayers, too, but 
I hardly think he did. Anyhow, he never said 
them in public, like Howmuchy. The things 
he did say in public were for the most part 
very different from prayers. And, though he 
said nothing in particular in regard to it, he 
did not seem to relish Howmuchy’s praying 
habits overmuch. One morning I observed Joe 
passing close behind the Afghan when the latter 
was at his devotions. He was at a part of his 
prayers when, kneeling, he had to incline his 
forehead several times close to the earth, with 
the result that another portion of his body 
assumed unusual prominence. Joe stopped im¬ 
mediately behind and stood for some seconds 
in his usual slantwise posture looking down on 
the praying Afghan. For an instant I thought 
I detected his right foot drawing back omin¬ 
ously; however, if he had any wicked intention, 
he thought better of it and passed on. 
Five or six weeks after starting on our pros¬ 
pecting trip we found ourselves about a hun¬ 
dred miles north of Coolgardie without having 
discovered any gold, or any signs thereof. We 
had zigzagged hither and thither according as 
we had heard rumors of likely country, but the 
land was overrun with prospectors with and 
without camels, and we rarely came upon a 
quartz reef that had not been abundantly tested 
before we saw it. Joe was a fraud as far as 
West Australian prospecting went. He had been 
accustomed to work in proved diggings, where, 
if a miner stuck to the job long enough, he gen¬ 
erally struck something payable in the long run; 
but, in the West Australian goldfields, where 
only one reef in a hundred might be gold-bear¬ 
ing, a man might spend a lifetime sampling a 
few reefs in Joe’s way, and get nothing for his 
work in the end. So our prospecting came to 
consist in Joe and George digging holes at or 
near some particular quartz reef, while Dinny 
and I roamed about the country searching for 
new reefs, and breaking chunks off to see if we 
could discover signs of gold, whenever we found 
one. The result was the same in both cases; 
we got no gold, but we got excellent health 
and splendid appetites. When Dinny and I 
returned at night we cometimes found George 
so deep down in a hole he had dug that 
we had not a little trouble in getting him 
out. Then we prepared supper, which gen¬ 
erally consisted of a stew made out of tinned 
beef. For aftercourse we had tea (made in 
what is called a growler in New York, a billy 
in Australia), damper and jam. The tinned but¬ 
ter we did not care much for, as it got rancid 
owing to the changes in temperature. As the 
nights were very cool—it was early spring—and 
the days very hot, it was impossible to spread 
the butter at our morning meal, whereas it had 
to be ladled out with a spoon at dinner time. 
So we ended by discarding it altogether and 
sticking to damper and jam, damper being flour 
and water kneaded into a dough and baked on 
wood ashes. After supper we generally had a 
quiet talk for an hour or two—Joe was fond of 
discoursing about the stars—and then we turned 
in. Turning in” consisted in spreading our 
blankets under the stars and sleeping such sleeps 
as dwellers in rooms rarely know. 
As we had found no gold at the end of five 
or six weeks of this kind of prospecting, some 
one suggested that we should go further afield. 
We had heard rumors of good prospecting coun¬ 
try lying eighty or a hundred miles beyond 
where we found ourselves. All agreeing to the 
suggestion, it was arranged that Dinny and I 
should go with the camels to a soak lying in the 
direction of the unknown country, and between 
twenty and thirty miles from where we were; 
the camels would then return for Joe and 
George. All four would remain at the soak 
while Howmuchy and the camels went to the 
nearest center for supplies. Then we would 
start for the unknown country, making the soak 
our base of operations. 
It was a Saturday morning, I remember, and 
Dinny and I and Howmuchy were up betimes to 
prepare for the start, which was to be made as 
soon as possible after daybreak. We left the 
finding of the way altogether to Howmuchy. 
How these Afghan camel drivers were able to 
find their way through an unknown country was 
always a puzzle to me. It seemed as if they 
must be possessed of some special instinct, not 
known to white men, which guided them. The 
country through which we traveled was for the 
most part perfectly flat, and, as there had been 
little or no traffic in this particular part of it, 
there were consequently no roads and no beaten 
tracks. But Howmuchy seemed to divine the 
route instinctively. On and on he plodded with 
his camels, Dinny and I following. Sometimes 
our way lay for miles through low scrub; then 
we came to a belt of high timber as sharply 
divided from the scrub as if an expert landscape 
gardener had drawn the line; then came more 
scrub, or perhaps a different kind of bush. But 
it was all one to Howmuchy; he and the camels 
turned and twisted, and went on and on, and 
never halted but once—for our midday meal of 
damper and tea. 
About four in the afternoon we struck the 
soak. | 
The soaks are stretches of rock which crop 
up here and there in the otherwise level plain. 
The one we now reached seemed to be about 
five or six miles long with an average width 
of half a mile, the highest point being twenty- 
five or thirty feet above the level. In this part 
of West Australia the rainfall is very meagre; 
half a year, or more, might sometimes pass with¬ 
out a shower. When it does rain the water flows 
down from the rocks and soaks into the adjacent 
soil, with the result that, somewhere in the 
neighborhood of the rocks, fresh water is gener¬ 
ally found at some distance beneath the surface. 
If it be near the surface, a bucket and short 
rope suffice to get the water when the well is 
dug; if it be deep down, a windlass is rigged 
up. We had now reached the “soak,” or ledge 
of rock, but to find the well itself, or soak 
proper, was a more ticklish job, as the rocks 
were from twelve to fifteen miles round. There 
was also the chance that, when we discovered 
the well, there might be no water in it. After 
a long drouth the wells sometimes become quite 
dry. 
Dinny and I were excessively thirsty. We 
had started in the morning with our waterbags 
full, each holding about three quarts, but the 
day had been very hot, and long before the 
soak was reached, Dinny’s waterbag and mine 
were empty, and we were experiencing the pangs 
of thirst. Howmuchy had been more abstemi¬ 
ous, having used his waterbag for tea only, 
so that it was still half full when we reached 
the rocks. He allowed Dinny, who was the 
thirstiest of the three, an occasional drink. He 
wouldn’t permit him (not being a Mohamme¬ 
dan) to drink from the mouthpiece; to do so 
would desecrate his waterbag and he could not 
use it again. Dinny put his hollowed palms to¬ 
gether and Howmuchy carefully filled the im¬ 
provised cup with water, which Dinny then drank 
up; as much of it at least as did not slip through 
his fingers. 
Finding the expanse of rock so extensive we 
proposed to leave the camels where they were— 
they would not be likely to stray far—and start 
out to look for the well, each taking a different 
direction. It was arranged that all should return 
to the starting place within two hours. I went 
off to the right, walking on the rocks so as to 
have a better view and keeping as close as pos¬ 
sible to their edge. Having traveled for about 
an hour and found no sign of the well, I turned 
back, but on reaching the place where the camels 
had been left—as I thought—I could discover 
no trace either of the camels or of my compan¬ 
ions. I seemed to be the only living being in 
that desolate region. 
It was by this time drawing on to sundown, 
and things were beginning to assume a serious : 
aspect. My thirst, which had been great when 
I started out to look for the well, was much 1 
greater now. No one who has not passed 
through a similar experience can possibly com¬ 
prehend what such a thirst means. One feels 
not thirsty merely; one feels parched and dried 
up to the innermost recesses of his being. I 
felt as if I could consume barrelfuls of liquid. 
While tramping along the rocks, getting more 
and more thirsty every moment, I had allowed 
my imagination to run riot, and been picturing i 
to myself what I should do if, being in Sydney ! 
or Melbourne, I happened to find myself in pos- ' 
session of such a thirst. I would go into the 
nearest saloon and ask the barmaid to fill the , 
largest vessel she had—say half a gallon—with J 
shandygaff—a mixture of ale and lemonade. I ; 
would drink this off just as easily as another 
man would drink a tumblerful. Having paid 
the young lady I would ask her to fill the meas¬ 
ure again—and again—and again. That would 
be two gallons. I felt as if I could easily drink 
half a dozen, but two would be enough in the 
same saloon. Having finished the second gallon 
I would walk out as nonchalantly as if the drink¬ 
ing of shandygaff by the gallon were quite an 
everyday occurrence with me. 
When I returned to where the camels should 
have been and found no trace of them, or of 
my companions, the seriousness of my situation 
drove this kind of fooling out of my head. I 
sat on the rocks for a while to consider what 
was to be done. The best thing, it seemed to 
me, would be to cross over to the other side of 
the plateau and make a search for water and 
for my companions at the same time, on that side. 
I went across, keeping a good lookout and 
taking a diagonal direction toward the left. 
When I got close to the edge of the rocks on 
the far side I was amazed to perceive, on a 
narrow sward that stretched between the rocks 
and the bush, a tent—so like the one Dinny and 
I used to rig up when we camped for any length 
of time, that I felt sure it must be ours. But 
