But at the end of that time, on a wild winter's night, he came back to them, dressed in opossum skins, with scarce a vestige of European clothing about him.

His beard had grown down over his chest, and he had nearly forgotten his mother tongue, but, when speech came to him again, he told them a strange story.
It was winter time when he rode away.

All the table lands were deep with snow; and, when he had escaped the policemen, he had crossed the first of the great ridges on the same night.

He camped in the valley he found on the other side; and, having his gun and some ammunition with him, he fared well.
He was beyond the country which had ever been trodden by white men, and now, for the mere sake of adventure, he determined to go further still, and see if he could cross the great White Mountains, which had hitherto been considered an insurmountable barrier.
For two days he rode over a high table-land, deep in snow.

Here and there, in a shallow sheltered valley, he would find just grass enough to keep his horse alive, but nothing for himself.