November 13.

Our walk this morning fully realized all my expectations of the preceding
evening, for by 8 o'clock A.M. we reached the dining place of the second
day. To record the satisfaction we felt in escaping a second journey over
Thirsty Flat, by following the valley we had seen yesterday evening, we
named it Lucky Valley. After a brief halt, we pushed on, and by eleven,
were at our old quarters in Mussel Bend. We heard the voices of natives
in all directions, far and near, and as I found the party still
astonishingly fresh, and eager to proceed, I thought it best to keep
going. We therefore continued our journey, and just before dark reached
the spot where we had dined the first day. Here, however, the cheerful
excitement of our pleasant and shady walk through Lucky Valley having
gone off, the men felt the effects of their long day's march, and were
all more or less knocked up.

RACE WITH A NATIVE.

Near the river, as we were approaching our intended bivouac, we came upon
a native walking leisurely across the plain, and so intently occupied in
poising and straightening his spear, and fixing it in the throwing stick,
that he allowed me, being in advance of the rest, to get within sixty
yards of him: I then loudly hailed him. He cast one look of utter and
indescribable astonishment at the strange being who thus interrupted his
pathway over his native soil, and was off at the top of his speed. Little
anticipating that I should soon have to test in earnest the fleetness of
these people, I tried rates with him for a short distance, and remarked,
with surprise, that he had not that superiority of speed which might have
been expected. Perhaps fright deprived him of his full powers, for what
must have been his sensations on finding himself almost cut off by a