Whilst resting the animals, that they might recover from the results of the hot morning's march, we sent Esau on in front to spy out the land, who brought back the favourable news that lakes and grass were ahead of us, and no mountains to climb. It was bitterly cold as we moved off at 4.30, but no doubt a bracing morning for our animals, but as soon as the sun rose, the heat again made itself unpleasant, and we were glad to find a suitable camp before 8 o'clock. One of the mules, a big black one, could only carry his load a few yards, and had to be shot. Although at the end of the first march we had found a good halting place in a clean gravel-bedded nullah, with running water from the snow mountains, and fair grass, yet the second march ended by moonlight with no grass at all, and two of the ponies were left behind. Our second attempt at a double march failed.
During the early morning we hit off a rivulet, which, as we continued to follow it, increased in volume, but on issuing from the nullah into a large open plain, this rivulet became a river, some ten yards across, and two feet deep, and wound away northwards. As our course took us due east, we reluctantly had to leave it, with the hope of meeting it again further on, and of finding its size still larger, so that we might be able to map out its course for a considerable distance. For some time afterwards we could see a silver streak in the distance, and beyond it an enormous range of snow mountains.
As soon as we left the river and marched east, our route lay across a sandy gravel plain, and our chances of ever finding water and grass again seemed very small, when, fortunately, from one of the hills I climbed, I noticed a hidden dip in the ground, with grass, and here, as usual, water was found by digging. The number of our animals was still decreasing, and the strength of the survivors was growing weaker and weaker. We had to economise every cupful of grain, for that was the way we always doled it out. There were six bags remaining, in all about 480 pounds, and we reckoned that each bag would last out for eight marching days if we gave to each animal two cupfuls of grain _per diem._ There were only sixteen survivors. One of the mules showed an obstinate and mutinous frame of mind, for when loaded with his fair due, he absolutely refused to march; as soon as we gave him a light load, he trotted along gaily and felt no effects from the march. He was about the fattest and strongest mule we had, thereby convincing us that his inability to carry his proper amount of baggage was a mere sham, and in order that he should not get the better of us, we gave his grain to others who did his work, until he saw the folly of his obstinacy.