And I actually _did_ turn back, accompanied, of course, by Yamba.

We did not strike due north again, as it was our intention to find a permanent home somewhere among the ranges, at any rate for the ensuing winter.

It was out of the question to camp where we were, because it was much too cold; and besides Yamba had much difficulty in finding roots.
Several days later, as we were plodding steadily along, away from the ranges that I have spoken of as lying to the south, Yamba, whose eyes were usually everywhere, suddenly gave a cry and stood still, pointing to some peculiar and unmistakable footprints in the sandy ground.

These, she confidently assured me, were those of a white man _who had lost his reason_, and was wandering aimlessly about that fearful country.

It was, of course, easy for her to know the white man's tracks when she saw them, but I was curious how she could be certain that the wanderer had lost his reason.