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 The poor fellow, driven by starvation, had lately been caught appropriating more than his share of the provisions, and was chastised by Burke for the offence—an act of discipline which might have been spared, for poor Gray was not to eat much more of the little store. Day after day he was carried forward on the journey, but each night found him getting weaker, and it was necessary to make a halt to let him die. He breathed his last in a lonely wilderness, sacrificing his life without a murmur to the cause which he loved not less than his master did. His three surviving companions mournfully buried him in the desert with such strength as was still left them, but were so exhausted with the labour of digging his grave as to require a day's rest before attempting to renew the journey. They, too, must have succumbed to their troubles but for the sustaining power of hope, which told them the longed-for depôt could not now be far distant. Other indications also pointed the same way, and in four days after leaving Gray's grave their eyes were gladdened with the sight of the familiar landmarks of the old camping ground on the Barcoo. Burke gathered up all his remaining strength and made the desert ring with "cooeys" for his former comrades, and listened for a reply; but, horresco referens, no response was returned but the echo of his own voice. Could it be possible that the depôt was abandoned, and the miserable men left to perish in the wilderness? The appalling thought was quickly succeeded by the