Thither they turned their horses, and a wonderful sight showed itself to them.
A tall man, deadly pale, in a pilgrim's garb, was striving with violent though unsuccessful efforts, to work his way out of the snow and to climb up the mountain; and thereby a quantity of bones, which were hanging loosely all about his garments, rattled one against the other, and caused the mysterious sound already mentioned.

Rolf, much terrified, crossed himself, while the bold Sintram called out to the stranger, "What art thou doing there?
Give an account of thy solitary labours." "I live in death," replied that other one with a fearful grin.
"Whose are those bones on thy clothes ?" "They are relics, young sir." "Art thou a pilgrim ?" "Restless, quietless, I wander up and down." "Thou must not perish here in the snow before my eyes." "That I will not." "Thou must come up and sit on my horse." "That I will." And all at once he started up out of the snow with surprising strength and agility, and sat on the horse behind Sintram, clasping him tight in his long arms.

The horse, startled by the rattling of the bones, and as if seized with madness, rushed away through the most trackless passes.

The boy soon found himself alone with his strange companion; for Rolf, breathless with fear, spurred on his horse in vain, and remained far behind them.

From a snowy precipice the horse slid, without falling, into a narrow gorge, somewhat indeed exhausted, yet continuing to snort and foam as before, and still unmastered by the boy.
Yet his headlong course being now changed into a rough irregular trot, Sintram was able to breathe more freely, and to begin the following discourse with his unknown companion.
"Draw thy garment closer around thee, thou pale man, so the bones will not rattle, and I shall be able to curb my horse." "It would be of no avail, boy; it would be of no avail.