From this camp Eyre started in the hope of shortly coming to a second supply of water that the natives had told him of, and lured on by this idea, he got forty miles from his camp without having made the provision that he should have done before entering on a very long stage. Coming to the conclusion that he must have passed the water, he decided to send the horses back to the last camp for a fresh supply before venturing further on. At midnight the overseer and the natives started back, leaving Eyre to mind the baggage with the scanty allowance of six pints of water to last him for six days until their return. On the 26th of March they again started, and at night reduced their baggage still more in the hope of getting the tired horses through; and the next day everything was abandoned, for still there was no prospect of water ahead. On the night of the 29th the last drop of water that they had with them was consumed, and the next morning water was obtained by digging in the sand drift--their seventh day out, after travelling, by Eyre's computation, one hundred and sixty miles. It was not until the 27th of April that they left the camp, to enter on the last fearful push that was to decide their fate--and did too well decide the fate of three. Once more the line of cliffs that had for a time been broken by the sandhills faced the ocean, and from experience Eyre knew well that he might expect no relief when travelling along their summits. On the evening of the 29th, the third night from their last camp, Eyre took the first watch to look after the horses, as this was necessary every night to prevent them rambling too far. The night was cold, the wind blowing hard, and across the face of the moon the scud kept rapidly driving. The horses wandered a good deal, and kept separating in the scrub, giving the lonely man much trouble to keep them together, and when his watch was nearly up he headed them for the camp, intending to call the overseer to relieve him, Suddenly the stillness of the desert was broken by the report of a gun. Eyre was not at first alarmed, thinking it a signal of Baxter's to show him the position of the camp; he called out in reply, but no answer was returned; and, hastening in the direction, was met by one of the boys running towards him crying, "Oh massa, oh massa, come here!" but beyond that could not speak for terror. Eyre was soon at the camp, and a glance told him that he was now indeed alone. Baxter, wounded to death, was lying on the ground in his last agony, and as Eyre raised his faithful companion, then in the convulsion of death, the frightful and appalling truth burst upon him in its full horror.