Not many minutes passed before the hardy mariners were on shore, and eagerly observing the conditions of their new-discovered realm.  River and lake alike were full of salmon, the largest they had ever seen, a fact which agreeably settled the question of food.  The climate seemed deliciously mild, as compared with the icy shores to which they were used.  The grass was but little withered by frost, and promised a winter supply of food for cattle.  Altogether they were so pleased with their surroundings that Leif determined to spend the winter at that place, exploring the land so far as he could.

For some time they dwelt under booths, passing the nights in their leather sleeping-bags; but wood was abundant, axes and hands skilful to wield them were at hand, and they quickly went to work to build themselves habitations more suitable for the coming season of cold.

No inhabitants of the land were seen.  So far as yet appeared, it might be a region on which human foot had never before been set.  But Leif was a cautious leader.  He bade his men not to separate until the houses were finished.  Then he divided them into two parties, left one to guard their homes and their ship, and sent the other inland to explore.

“Beware, though,” he said, “that you risk not too much.  We know not what perils surround us.  Go not so far inland but that you can get back by evening, and take care not to separate.”

Day after day these explorations continued, the men plunging into the forest that surrounded them and wandering far into its hidden recesses, each evening bringing back with them some story of the marvels of this new land, or some sample of its productions strange to their eyes.

An evening came in which one of the explorers failed to return.  He had either disobeyed the injunctions of Leif and gone too far to get back by evening, or some peril of that unknown land had befallen him.  This man was of German birth, Tyrker by name, a southerner who had for years dwelt with Eirek and been made the foster-father of Leif, who had been fond of him since childhood.  He was a little, wretched-looking fellow, with protruding forehead, unsteady eyes, and tiny face, yet a man skilled in all manner of handicraft.

Leif, on learning of his absence, upbraided the men bitterly for losing him, and called on twelve of them to follow him in search.  Into the forest they went, and before long had the good fortune to behold Tyrker returning.  The little fellow, far from showing signs of disaster, was in the highest of spirits, his face radiant with joy.

“How now, foster-father!” cried Leif.  “Why are you so late? and why have you parted from the others?”

Tyrker was too excited to answer.  He rolled his eyes wildly and made wry faces.  When words came to him, he spoke in his native German, which none of them understood.  Joy seemed to have driven all memory of the language of the north from his mind.  It was plain that no harm had come to him.  On the contrary, he seemed to have stumbled upon some landfall of good luck.  Yet some time passed before they could bring him out of his ecstasy into reason.