Tuesday, 7th May, Sturt Plains. Before sunrise this morning I sent Wall up a tree to see if any hills or rising grounds would be visible by refraction. To the west, with a powerful telescope he can just see the top of rising ground. As the grass is now quite dry, the horses feel the want of water very much; many of them are looking wretched, and I hardly think will be able to reach it. However reluctant, I must go back for the safety of the party. At 3 p.m. arrived at the creek which Thring found about one mile to the north of my former camp, with the loss of only one horse; we had to leave him a short distance behind, he would not move a step further, although during a great part of the journey he had been carrying little or nothing. This water will last two months at least; feed good. It is inside the first ironstone rise in Ashburton range, in a gum creek which empties itself into the plains. This creek I have named Hawker Creek, after James Hawker, Esquire, of her Majesty's Customs at Port Adelaide. The day has been very hot. Wind, south-east. Latitude, 17 degrees 58 minutes.