Tuesday, 16th September, Hayward Creek. The natives showed themselves again at daybreak, but kept on the opposite bank of the creek, having a long look at us, and calling out something at the top of their voices which we could not understand. Watered our horses, saddled, and moved on amidst a succession of yells and screeches from old and young. Proceeded across Short ranges, and Phillip, and Bishop Creeks. Looked into every place I could think of, but could not find a drop. Moved on to Tennant Creek. Found that dry. Tried digging in the sand, without effect. Pushed on to the large rocky water hole in Goodiar Creek, where I made almost sure that I should find some. On arriving, was sadly disappointed to find that dry also. Proceeded across the McDouall range, and camped on a grassy plain between it and Mount Samuel. The natives followed us nearly to Tennant Creek, raising a line of smoke all the way. They kept about a mile to the east of us, on some rising ground that runs nearly parallel with my tracks. We have had to lighten a heavy cart-horse named Charley. When any hardship is to be undergone, he is always the first to show symptoms of giving in. He had only thirty pounds to carry to-day, and he looks ten times worse than those that are carrying one hundred and twenty. I shall require to let him go without anything to-morrow. We shall have to watch the horses during the night to prevent them from straying in search of water. Wind, south-east.