On
my way to overtake the party, I met Mr. Browne and Flood on the plains,
with whom I rode back. As we crossed these plains we flushed numerous
pigeons--a pair, indeed, from under almost every bush of rhagodia that we
passed. This bird was similar to one Mr. Browne had shot in the pine
forest, and this was clearly the breeding season; there were no young
birds, and in most of the nests only one egg. We should not, however,
have encumbered ourselves with any of the young at that time, but looked
to a later period for the chance of being able to take some of that
beautiful description of pigeon home with us. The old birds rose like
grouse, and would afford splendid shooting if found in such a situation
at any other period than that of incubation; at other times however, as I
shall have to inform the reader, they congregate in vast flocks, and are
migratory.
Fortunately, at that part of the creek where the party struck it, there
was a small pool of water, at which we gladly halted for the night,
having travelled about 28 miles; our journey to Flood's Creek on the
following day was comparatively short. Flood had not at all exaggerated
his account of this creek, which, as an encouragement, I named after him.
It was certainly a most desirable spot to us at that time; with plenty of
water, it had an abundance of feed along its banks; but our tents were
pitched on the rough stony ground flanking it, under cover of some small
rocky hills.
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