exceedingly high and severe, but all the horses got over the last one.

We were now in full view of the range, with the Gorge of Tarns not
more than five miles away. But here Diamond and another, Pratt, that I
had out by myself at the stinking pit in November, fell, never to
rise. We took off their packs and left them on the ground. The
thermometer then stood at 106 degrees in the shade. We pushed on,
intending to return immediately with water to the relief of these
unfortunates. The pack-horses now presented a demoralised and
disorganised rout, travelling in a long single file, for it was quite
impossible to keep the tail up with the leaders. I shall try to give
my reader some slight idea of them, if description is sufficiently
palpable to do so. The real leader was an old black mare, blear-eyed
from fly-wounds, for ever dropping tears of salt rheum, fat, large,
strong, having carried her 180 pounds at starting, and now desperately
thirsty and determined, knowing to an inch where the water was; on she
went, reaching the stony slopes about two miles from the water. Next
came a rather herring-gutted, lanky bay horse, which having been
bought at the Peake, I called Peveril; he was generally poor, but
always able, if not willing, for his work. Then came a big bay cob,
and an old flea-bitten gray called Buggs, that got bogged in the
Stemodia viscosa Creek, and a nuggetty-black harness-horse called
Darkie, always very fat. These last three carried 200 pounds each at
starting. Then Banks, the best saddle-horse I have, and which I had
worked too much in dry trips before reaching this range; he was very
much out of sorts and footsore. Then an iron-grey colt, called Diaway,
having been very poor and miserable when first purchased, but he was a
splendid horse. Then came the sideways-going old crab, Terrible Billy.
He was always getting into the most absurd predicaments--poor old
creature; got down our throats at last!--falling into holes, and up