They have a funny custom in the West of naming horses after their
owners--thus the chestnut is known to this day as "Little Carnegie."
Sometimes they are named after the men from whom they are bought. This
practice, when coach-horses are concerned, has its laughable side, and
passengers unacquainted with the custom may be astonished to hear all
sorts of oaths and curses, or words of entreaty and encouragement,
addressed to some well-known name--and they might be excused for thinking
the driver's mind was a little unhinged, or that in his troubles and
vexations he was calling on some prominent citizen, in the same way that
knights of old invoked their saints.

Thus, our peaceful life at the "Twenty-five" passed on, relieved sometimes
by the arrival of horsemen and others in search of water. Amongst our
occasional visitors was a well-known gentleman, bearing the proud title
of "The biggest liar in Australia." How far he deserved the distinction I
should hesitate to say, for men prone to exaggerate are not uncommon in
the bush. Sometimes, however, they must have the melancholy satisfaction
of knowing that they are disbelieved, when they really do happen to tell
the truth. A story of my friend's, which was received with incredulous
laughter, will exemplify this.

This was one of his experiences in Central Australia. He was perishing
from thirst, and, at the last gasp, he came to a clay-pan which, to his
despair, was quite dry and baked hard by the sun. He gave up all hope; not
so his black-boy, who, after examining the surface of the hard clay,
started to dig vigorously, shouting, "No more tumble down, plenty water
here!" Struggling to the side of his boy, he found that he had unearthed a
large frog blown out with water, with which they relieved their thirst.
Subsequent digging disclosed more frogs, from all of which so great a