uld certainly have made them mad. As it was, two of them lay
down to die, and part of the provisions had to be abandoned. Baxter now
grew despondent, and wished to return; but Eyre was determined not yet
to give up. Onward they toiled through the dreary wilderness, and two
more horses fell exhausted; 126 miles from the last halting-place, and
still no signs of water. Still onward, and the horses continued to drop
by the way, Baxter constantly entreating Eyre to return. It was only
after a journey of 160 miles that they came to a place where, by
digging, they could obtain fresh water in very small quantities.
They were now forced to eke out their failing provisions by eating
horseflesh. Baxter was altogether disheartened; and, if to return had
not been as dangerous as to go forward, Eyre would himself have
abandoned the attempt. The three natives, however, were still as
light-hearted and merry as ever; whilst the food lasted they were
always full of frolic and laughter.

#4. Death of Baxter.#--Each evening Eyre formed a little camp, loaded the
muskets, and laid them down ready for use in case of an attack by the
blacks; the horses were hobbled, and set free to gather the little
vegetation they could find. But this forced Eyre and Baxter to keep
watch by turns, lest they should stray so far as to be lost. One evening
when Eyre had taken the first watch, the horses, in their search for
grass, had wandered about a quarter of a mile from the camp. He had
followed them, and was sitting on a stone beneath the moonlight, musing
on his gloomy prospects, when he was startled by a flash and a report.
Hastening to the camp, he was met by Wylie, who was speechless with
terror, and could only wring his hands and cry: "Oh, massa". When he
entered, he saw Baxter lying on his face, whilst the baggage was broken
open, and scattered in all directions. He raised the wounded man in his
arms, but only in time to support him as his head fell back in death.
Then placing the body on the ground, and looking around him, he
perceived that two of his natives had plundered the provisions, shot Mr.
Baxter as he rose to remonstrate with them, and had then escaped. The
moon became obscured, and in the deep gloom, beside the dead body of his
friend, Eyre passed a fearful night, peering into the darkness lest the
miscreants might be lurking near to shoot him also. He says, in his
diary: "Ages can never efface the horrors of that single night, nor
would