drying; in consequence of the last detention it has put us far back from
where we otherwise would have been, and the course appears pretty open to
us now.

Monday, April 21.

No dew last night, still the meat is unfit to pack, will have to give it
today still, and then will make a start in the morning. A splendid large
creek flows west of south over the fall of water, and at fifteen to
sixteen miles from this there is abundance of water in it, and must
increase wonderfully as it goes southward and receives its various
tributaries. I have called it the Hamilton after G. Hamilton, Esquire,
Inspector of Police, Adelaide. The one flowing south from our last camp
(39) I have called the Warburton, after the Commissioner of Police, P.E.
Warburton, Esquire, of Adelaide. The range between the two going south I
have called Crozier's Range after John Crozier, Esquire, Murray River.
The ranges west side of the Hamilton going southward I have called
William's Ranges. From the division of waters the ranges west of this and
the creek flowing northwards, a branch of which we are now on, I have
called McKinlay Creek and Ranges; I only hope the creek may hold a course
west of north. The ranges on the east side of this creek going northward
I have called Kirby's Ranges to remind him of his narrow escape.
Tributaries come into this creek south of this position, and west and
east as far as I can discern from top of range, about five miles
north-north-east of this; there is abundance of water in many of the
minor as well as the main creeks; mussels in all. Magnificent pasture all
around and lots of game but wild.

Tuesday, April 22.

Camp 40. We have been here now since the afternoon of Thursday last the
17th, and high time it is that we make some progress. Wind south-east;
cold dewless nights; the meat has dried after a fashion but not
sufficient for keeping any length of time without further exposure to sun
and air--which we must do as soon as we get to camp for several days.
Kirby has now quite recovered and we start on a bearing of 345 degrees. I
call this small creek Black-eyes Creek--after the bullock we slaughtered
here; at three and three-quarter miles crossed the what appears main
channel of the creek coming from west-south-west, and various others
coming in all directions; this is an immense creek, sandy and gravelly
bed, with large and to me perfectly new trees, with short and broad dark
green leaf and often clustering in fine