their left hand answer the purpose, and they make a neat, tidy net.
17th. Quite calm this morning. Read aloud Galton's "Art of Travel." The thermometer at noon was 130°; at 12·20 it was up to 164°! The heat was so great we could do nothing. We tried to sleep, but the flies prevented our burying our troubles in that way. Everything was hot, the water in the lake even. I think it was about the worst day any poor devils ever spent.
A number of natives on the other side of the lake. Frank, our nigger, got a story out of Mr. Bullenjani, that there was only one white man killed at Kadhiberri. He says that four fellows came there with camels and horses, and attacked the blacks first; that several were killed and wounded, but only one white, and he was buried by his comrades, who then went away in the direction of Cooper's Creek; that afterwards the natives dug him up, and eat the sinewy part of his legs and arms, and then reburied him, but not in the same grave. This seems a true tale, as Mr. McKinlay only found one skull, and that had old marks of sabre-cuts. This, in all probability, is Grey, who is reported to have died, in Burke's journal, on his way down; but there is no mention of any encounter with the natives; he seems silent on this point. There must, however, have been a scrimmage there some time or other,
