When near the first little hole I had formerly seen, I dismounted, and walked up to see how it had stood during my absence, and was grieved to discover that the lowest and largest hole was nearly dry.

I bounded up the rocks to the next, and there, by the blessing of Providence, was still a sufficient quantity, as the slow trickling of the water from basin to basin had not yet entirely ceased, though its current had sadly diminished since my last visit only some seventy hours since.
By this time it was dark, and totally impossible to get the horses up the gully.

We had to get them over a horrible ridge of broken and jumbled rocks, having to get levers and roll away huge boulders, to make something like a track to enable the animals to reach the water.
Time (and labour) accomplishes all things, and in time the last animal's thirst was quenched, and the last drop of water sucked up from every basin.

I was afraid it would not be replenished by morning.
We had to encamp in the midst of a thicket of a kind of willow acacia with pink bark all in little curls, with a small and pretty mimosa-like leaf.

This bush is of the most tenacious nature--you may bend it, but break it won't.