Transcriber’s Note
  Italic text displayed as: _italic_




WHITE SOX

[Illustration: “In they plunged, together, in too great a hurry to
notice the resinous substance.” (_See page 24._)]




  _Animal Life Series_

  WHITE SOX

  The Story of the Reindeer
  in Alaska

  _By William T. Lopp_

  _Superintendent of Education
  of Natives of Alaska_
  _Formerly Chief of Alaska Division
  United States Bureau of Education
  and Superintendent of Reindeer
  in Alaska_

  _Illustrated with drawings by
  H. Boylston Dummer_

  [Illustration: Decoration]

  1924

  _Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York_

  _WORLD BOOK COMPANY_

  _2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago_




WORLD BOOK COMPANY

THE HOUSE OF APPLIED KNOWLEDGE

Established 1905 by Caspar W. Hodgson

  YONKERS-ON-HUDSON, NEW YORK
  2126 PRAIRIE AVENUE, CHICAGO


To the minds of most children and a good many older persons, reindeer
suggest Santa Claus, and no more. But the reindeer is one of man’s very
necessary domestic animals; it affords a means for reclaiming vast
sub-Arctic regions that now lie waste; and in Alaska the government of
the United States has introduced reindeer and encouraged the raising of
them, till now they are a source of wealth to the territory. To tell
the story of the reindeer in our northerly territory is the purpose of
the present little volume. Mr. William T. Lopp, the author, has been
concerned with the government’s work in giving the reindeer to the
natives of Alaska since the work was begun in the ’90’s, and it was he
who drove a herd of reindeer seven hundred miles for the relief of the
whalers at Point Barrow in 1897. This story of _White Sox_ is, then,
the work of an authority on the reindeer; and the publishers feel that
it is worthy of its place in Animal Life Series beside _Matka_, Dr.
David Starr Jordan’s classic story of the fur seal


  ALS: LWS—1

  Copyright 1924 by World Book Company

  Copyright in Great Britain

  _All rights reserved_


  PRINTED IN U. S. A.




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE

  INTRODUCTION (_Elmer Ellsworth Brown_)                             vii

  CHAPTER

  I.    ASTRAY FROM THE HERD                                           1

  II.   A TASTE OF WILD LIFE                                           7

  III.  WHITE SOX LEARNS MANY THINGS                                  14

  IV.   A RACE FOR LIFE                                               21

  V.    WHITE SOX TRAVELS THROUGH A BLIZZARD                          28

  VI.   UNDER THE ARCTIC MOON                                         34

  VII.  MOTHER REINDEER’S STORY OF WHITE FEET                         40

  VIII. THE FIRST HUMAN FRIEND                                        46

  IX.   WHITE FEET FINDS A WAY OF SERVING MAN                         53

  X.    THE HUNTER BECOMES A HERDER                                   60

  XI.   HOW MOTHER REINDEER CAME TO ALASKA                            65

  XII.  WHITE SOX LEARNS HIS LAST LESSON                              71




INTRODUCTION


This story will be read by boys and girls in Alaska who know their
fathers’ herds of reindeer “like a book,” or better than a book; and it
will be read by other boys and girls who never saw a reindeer and think
of them only as strange and wonderful creatures that live among the
snows in a far-off northern region. I hardly know whether we enjoy more
hearing the story of our own domestic animals or the story of strange
animals that we have never seen. So I can hardly guess whether this
story will be read with more interest in Alaska or in Maine and Florida
and California. But it will be read with lively interest wherever it
may go.

When I was Commissioner of Education at Washington, in the Department
of the Interior, people often asked me how it happened that my office
had anything to do with such a distant and unrelated activity as the
reindeer industry. I told them that this was one of the finest examples
of real education for real life with which I had ever had to do. I
found the subject tremendously interesting. Dr. Sheldon Jackson, who
introduced domestic reindeer into Alaska, was then alive and was one of
the most vigorous and adventurous and interesting members of my staff.
Very soon Mr. Lopp, who was at that time a District Superintendent in
Alaska, came on to Washington to arrange with the new Commissioner for
the more complete organization of the reindeer industry and for its
further development.

I found Mr. Lopp one of those rare men who think more than they talk.
We very soon got together, became acquainted with each other, and
settled down to the work that we had to do together. I learned to
appreciate his intimate knowledge of the reindeer business and its
use in the making of better living conditions and a better life for
those Alaskans who live in the reindeer country. I learned to value
his personal devotion to the great work in which he was engaged. The
friendship that grew up between us, through our official relations, is
one which I have greatly prized, from that time down to the present
day; and accordingly I have welcomed this story of his most warmly, and
I am sure it will be welcomed by a wide circle of readers.

  ELMER ELLSWORTH BROWN

 New York University




WHITE SOX




[Illustration: “Not a thing could he see except his mother.”]




I

ASTRAY FROM THE HERD


White Sox opened his eyes, winked them several times, and looked about
him. Not a thing could he see except his mother. She was resting on a
bed of moss close beside him, wide awake, chewing her cud. He knew he
had not slept very long because it was still daylight. But the daylight
was gray and damp, for the sides and roof of his bedroom were of
fog,—fog so thick that it walled them in completely.

“Mother,” he said anxiously, “do you think we shall ever find our way
back to the big herd?”

Mother Reindeer looked at him for a moment without speaking, and went
on grinding the wad of food in her mouth—chew, chew, chew. Then she
turned her head this way and that, as if listening for any sound that
might be heard.

“I’m beginning to think the whole world is made of fog,” complained
White Sox. “We’ve been wandering about in it for two days—here and
there, up and down—without so much as scenting another reindeer or
hearing a sound. Mother, I’m getting dreadfully worried.”

Mother Reindeer looked at him again. Her kind eyes were full of
patience. She did not seem a bit worried about things like fog or being
lost.

White Sox thought they had gone straying in search of better moss
fields and had become separated from the herd by the heavy mist. He
never dreamed that his mother was taking him to school. No, indeed!

“Mother,” he said, speaking a little louder, “what if we have been
going farther away all the time and never find our way back to the big
herd on the sea beach?”

Mother Reindeer swallowed her cud. “Nonsense!” she answered. “When
the fog lifts we shall be able to see where we are. We have better
moss here than down on the sea beach, and no mosquitoes to bother us.
There’s nothing to worry about.”

“But, mother! it is very lonesome here. There isn’t a fox or a
ptarmigan, not even an owl or a mouse,” White Sox complained.

Then he rose and stretched himself. He was five months old, and he had
never been away from the sea beach before. He tried to look through
the fog—this way and that way—but he was afraid of losing sight of his
mother. He did not go more than a couple of yards from her.

“This awful stillness makes me unhappy,” he said. “I want to hear the
sound of the cowbells, the yelps of the collies, and the shouts of the
herders.”

Mother Reindeer watched him with kindly eyes. She was very proud of
White Sox. He was her fifteenth fawn, and the smartest, handsomest, and
most graceful and agile in the big herd.

He was very tall. His body was slender and well proportioned. His head
was finely shaped and held very high; his horns were still in the
velvet, and they were beautiful. His hair was of the darkest shade of
brown—all except his legs, which, from the hoofs to the knees, were as
white and smooth as the skin of a winter weasel, and his nose, which
looked as if it had been dipped halfway to his eyes into a pail of milk.

Yes, indeed! Mother Reindeer had good reason to be proud of White Sox.
He was strong as well as handsome; only a few hours after he was born
he had been able to run with the other fawns and take care of himself.
Now, at five months, he could outrun them all. And, strange as it may
appear, all the other mothers in the big herd admitted that there was
not another fawn to compare with White Sox.

Just at that moment, while Mother Reindeer was thinking about these
things, a gentle breeze from the northwest blew in her direction
and kissed the tip of her nose. She sprang quickly to her feet. She
stretched her graceful neck, lifted her upper lip slightly, and sniffed
the breeze.

[Illustration: “White Sox turned his nose in the same direction as
hers, and sniffed, and sniffed, and sniffed.”]

“What is it?” White Sox asked quickly. “Mother, do you scent the big
herd?”

Mother Reindeer was nodding her head upward and downward. White Sox
turned his nose in the same direction as hers, and sniffed, and
sniffed, and sniffed.

“Come!” cried Mother Reindeer. “Let’s be off!”

Away they went—right through the thick fog, just as if it had not been
there at all. After they had gone a few miles, the heavy mist began
to lift. They could see a little farther, then still farther, and at
last, on a low ridge straight ahead of them, White Sox caught sight of
moving forms.

“Mother! Look, look! It’s the big herd!” he shouted joyfully.

He was about to rush toward them, when his mother spoke.

“Not so fast, my son,” she said. “That is a herd of caribou. They are
our wild cousins.”

White Sox was very much surprised. “Our wild cousins?” he repeated
slowly. Then he became greatly excited. “Oh, mother, I’m so glad! I’ve
always wanted to see our wild cousins. How lucky we are! Come, let’s
hurry!”

“No, no, my son! You have many lessons to learn,” she said kindly. “Our
wild cousins do not know we are coming to visit them. They have not
scented us, because the wind is blowing from them to us. They will be
startled when they see us. We must move very slowly. If we rush toward
them, they will run away.”

As White Sox and his mother moved toward the herd of white caribou,
they left the last of the fog behind and could see their cousins quite
plainly.

“They look exactly like us,” said White Sox, after watching them for a
little while.

“Look again, my son,” said Mother Reindeer.

But at that moment the caribou caught sight of the strangers. They
quickly bunched together, with heads erect, and watched them.

Mother Reindeer paused. White Sox stopped also.

“No, mother, I was wrong,” he said. “I can see our cousins plainer now.
Their bodies are more slender than those of the reindeer in our herd.
Their legs and necks are longer. They hold their heads higher. There
are no spotted or white ones among them.”

“Very true,” said Mother Reindeer. She liked to have White Sox find out
things for himself. “The spotted and white ones are found only in the
herds that live with man and serve him. Come, we will go to our wild
cousins now. They are frightened. Walk very slowly, and pay attention
to what I tell you.”




[Illustration: “The caribou stood at attention as White Sox and his
mother came up to them.”]




II

A TASTE OF WILD LIFE


The caribou stood at attention as White Sox and his mother came up to
them. To White Sox they seemed very shy and nervous, but he supposed
that was because they had not been expecting company.

“Mother,” he whispered, “why do they all stare at me so?”

“You are the first white-legged and white-nosed fawn they have ever
seen,” she told him. Then she introduced him to them all.

White Sox held his head as high as theirs, but he behaved very nicely
while they admired his beautiful markings. While his mother was
greeting the older cousins, the younger ones gathered about him and
invited him to join in their play. But White Sox was not in a playful
mood. He was curious to learn more about these strange cousins; so he
went back to his mother.

“Have you been here before, mother?” he asked. “Our wild cousins seem
to know you quite well.”

“Yes, my son. I have often made visits to the caribou at this time of
the year,” Mother Reindeer said. “But run away and eat your supper with
the fawns. Keep your eyes and ears open, and learn all you can of their
life and habits.”

White Sox was very happy. This new world seemed a beautiful place
to him. From the top of the ridge he could see for a long distance
in every direction. Life was not a bit lonesome now. He skipped and
frisked with the fawns, and ate his supper of moss with them in a tiny
hollow just below the ridge where the big caribou were eating. Oh, it
was the most delicious moss he had ever tasted! When sleeping time
came, he went back to his mother, too tired and drowsy to say a word.

But do you suppose the wild caribou were going to allow the lazy fellow
to sleep in peace? Not a bit of it! Four times during the night the
herd changed its camping ground. White Sox was awakened out of a lovely
nap each time in order to follow them.

But next day—well, he had forgotten this; and it was just as Mother
Reindeer had expected it would be. The fawns had told him wonderful
stories about their wild life. The newness and excitement of it had
so charmed him that the foolish fellow wanted to stay with his wild
cousins forever and ever.

Mother Reindeer was preparing for her afternoon nap. She had made
herself comfortable on a nice soft bed of moss where she could see up
the ridge and down the ridge, when White Sox came to her, all out of
breath. He dropped down on the bed beside her without so much as asking
her leave.

“Mother, I’ve changed my mind,” he said, panting. “I don’t want to go
back to the big herd.”

Mother Reindeer did not say a word. She wanted to know how much he had
learned, and so she kept quiet till he had breath enough to tell her.
She did not have to wait very long.

“I like this wild life, mother,” he said. “Our cousins are free to come
and go as they please. They eat on the mossy ranges in winter and on
the grassy slopes in summer. They have sorrels and mushrooms, foliage
of shrubs, and all kinds of dainties. The fawns are never robbed of
their mothers’ milk. They are never roped and thrown to the ground by
cruel herders. They don’t have their ears cut and their horns torn off.”

White Sox was all out of breath again because he had talked so fast. He
was quite excited, too.

“I’ve been thinking of my Cousin Bald Face,” he went on. “If he had
lived with the caribou, he would have been alive today. I shall never
forget his death.”

“Bald Face did not heed his mother’s teaching, my son,” said Mother
Reindeer, gently.

“It wasn’t his fault, mother. I had just been roped and thrown to
the ground. One of the herders had taken two V’s out of my right ear
and another V out of my left ear—so you’d know I belonged to you, I
suppose—when I saw the loop of the lasso close over Bald Face’s left
horn, near the end. The poor little fellow was running his fastest. The
herder braced himself and held the lasso tight. My cousin’s horn was
pulled off. Oh, it was horrible! A piece of Bald Face’s skull the size
of my ear was torn off with the root of the horn, leaving his brain
bare.”

“The herder was a new one,” said Mother Reindeer. “He had not learned
his business. He will never injure another reindeer in that way. We
must forgive him and try to forget it.”

“Mother, I can’t forget it,” cried White Sox. “These wild cousins of
ours can look forward to a long life of freedom and safety. They are
not the slaves of herders and dogs. I want to stay with them.”

“You are very young, my son. You have much to learn,” said his mother.

“But I know what will happen to me if I stay with the big herd,” he
said. “I’ll have to draw heavy sled loads in winter and carry tiresome
packs in summer, if I am not killed by the butcher’s knife when I am
two years old. In that case the herders will eat my flesh and make
clothing out of my hide. The skin of my white legs will be used for
fancy boots for some herder.”

Mother Reindeer nodded her head upward and downward. She knew the ways
of the big herd and had seen these things happen many times. She knew
that if her beautiful White Sox was intended for a sled deer, he would
first have to be halter-broken. A herder would rope him and tie him to
a piece of tundra surface that was higher than the rest of the tundra,
called a “niggerhead.” Then would follow the tedious work of breaking
him to harness. He would be a beast of burden in winter as long as his
back-fat lasted. Back-fat is the fat that collects on a reindeer’s back
in summer, when there are green grass and shrubbery to eat. Reindeer
moss alone does not give the reindeer strength enough for much hard
work.

[Illustration: A herder.]

If White Sox was broken to harness, Mother Reindeer thought it quite
likely that he would be selected by the mail carrier for that terrible
journey of five hundred miles to Kotzebue Sound. But she had reason to
believe that, because of his perfect markings, this wonderful fawn of
hers might escape the butcher’s knife and the herder’s harness and be
kept for a leader of the big herd. It was because she thought this that
she had brought him with her on a visit to the caribou.

[Illustration: “This wonderful fawn of hers might escape the butcher’s
knife and the herder’s harness and be kept for a leader.”]

“Mother,” began White Sox, after thinking for a little while, “have you
forgotten what Uncle Slim told us just before we became separated from
the big herd?”

“No, indeed! But run away and play with the fawns now,” she said.
“Watch them carefully. You have not learned your lesson yet.”

Mother Reindeer had intended to take a nap, but she had many things
to think of after White Sox left her. Uncle Slim had told them that
probably the big herd would be pastured on the ice-coated sea beach
during the coming winter. This meant that the sled deer would grow very
thin again. The herders liked to pasture the herd there so that they
could live in their old sod houses and be near the big village at Point
Barrow.

Lack of moss would not be the only drawback; there was also the terror
of the Eskimo dogs. Slim’s brother had been crippled by a malamute
dog, at Kivalina, when hauling mail on the Barrow-Kotzebue route.
Last December, Slim and five other reindeer had been staked out for
five nights near Point Barrow village. They were exposed to a fierce
northeast wind while the drivers were enjoying themselves in the
village, where feasting and dancing were going on. On the fifth night
the wind had changed to the northwest, and the reindeer had been
scented by hungry village dogs. After a desperate struggle, Slim and
the other reindeer had broken their tethers and had outrun the dogs.
They had run miles and miles back to the big herd, and so had saved
their lives.

It was not all joy in the big herd. Mother Reindeer knew that very
well. Many a time she too had been tempted to stay with her caribou
cousins and adopt their free life. But always something had happened to
make her change her mind. She felt sure it would be the same way with
White Sox.




[Illustration: “‘When I bent my head to take a drink, I saw the picture
of my antlers.’”]




III

WHITE SOX LEARNS MANY THINGS


When White Sox and the fawns returned from the brook where the
dwarf willows grew, he was full of a new subject that he could not
understand, and of course he wanted his mother to explain it.

“Mother,” he said, “the water in the brook was very clear this morning.
When I bent my head to take a drink, I saw the picture of my antlers.
They are not so big and strong as those of the caribou fawns. There is
one little fellow here—much younger than I—whose upright branches are
longer than mine.”[1]

“Very likely he’ll need his horns more than you will,” said Mother
Reindeer.

“Not if I become a caribou, mother; and I do so want to stay here and
have a good time all my life,” pleaded White Sox. Then he looked at
her curiously and said, “Mother, the caribou all seem to have better
antlers than the reindeer. You are like the caribou; your coat is of
the same color when you stand in the deep moss and hide your white
ankles. But your antlers—”

“Well, what’s the matter with them?” she asked, when her son paused.

“I don’t know, mother,” he answered. “Something seems to be wrong with
them. You have twenty-two points still covered with velvet, but the
points are soft. They curve inward. I don’t think they would be of much
use in a fight.”

“Neither do I,” said Mother Reindeer, “but I am not expecting to get
into a fight. I lost a set of beautiful antlers when you were born.
Mothers usually lose their horns at such times. The big herd was kept
on the shores of a lagoon near the beach while my new set was growing.
Mosquitoes were very thick at that place. I had to keep shaking my head
from side to side to beat off the pests. That constant striking of my
growing horns caused them to curve inward at the ends.”

“The leader of the caribou has a fine set of antlers,” White Sox told
her. “I counted forty-seven points, all peeled and sharpened for
service. Will mine ever be like his, mother?”

“Don’t worry, my son,” said Mother Reindeer, kindly. “You’ll grow a new
set of antlers each year. I’ve grown and cast fifteen sets. No two of
them were alike.”

Mother Reindeer knew that the size and shape of antlers and the number
of their points all depended on the summer range. If she and White Sox
were to adopt the wild life of the caribou, their antlers would be as
large and strong as those of their wild cousins. But she was too wise
to tell this to her son before he had learned his first lessons.

Away he skipped. If he could not match the caribou fawns in antlers, he
could equal them in fleetness. My, how he could run! Mother Reindeer
watched him now, and she thought that his white stockings looked for
all the world like a streak of snow above the moss. She knew, too, that
his cousins envied him those white stockings, and she hoped that he
would have sense enough not to become vain of them.

When the second night came, White Sox was very tired and sleepy. But
his wild cousins would not let him rest in peace. Just about midnight
they decided to move to the next ridge. They were no sooner comfortably
settled there than the leader ordered them all to another place. When
daylight came, White Sox complained to his mother about this frequent
moving.

“Mother, do our wild cousins never rest and sleep?” he asked. “I’ve
lost more sleep these two nights than during all the past month. And
tell me, please, mother, why do they eat the poor, short dry moss on
the top of the ridges and knob hills, when there is much better grazing
in the valleys?”

But Mother Reindeer answered only with a shake of her wise head. She
knew perfectly well that White Sox might forget the things she told
him, but he would always remember the things he found out for himself.

While White Sox waited for her to speak, he saw her turn her head
to the right, then to the left, just as the caribou were always
doing—looking for trouble.

“Mother, you’ve caught their nervous habit,” he said. “It’s the only
thing about our cousins that I don’t like. Well, if I can’t get enough
sleep here, I’m surely going to have enough to eat. I’m not going to
punish myself by adopting foolish caribou habits. There’ll be some good
moss in that little valley down there. I’m going to have it for my
breakfast.”

Away he went. Mother Reindeer followed him quickly. Sure enough, as
they crossed a patch where dwarf willows grew they came upon some of
the finest moss. Um! it made their mouths water. But do you think White
Sox had that moss for his breakfast? No, indeed!

Mother Reindeer shook her head. “You come right up to this other knoll
at once,” she ordered, sternly. “The restless habits of your wild
cousins are not foolish styles, as you’ll soon find out. Come right
along, now, and pay attention to what I say. Your father once called my
ear buttons a ‘foolish female style,’ but he changed his mind about it
when the herders clamped buttons on his own ears.”

White Sox followed his mother up the slope to the little knoll. He did
not like it one bit, but he dared not disobey her. They had barely
reached the high ground when they heard the frightened squawkings of a
flock of ptarmigan, which rose like a cloud out of another patch of low
arctic willows a few hundred yards from the spot where they had crossed
the little valley.

“Look, look!” exclaimed White Sox, becoming excited. “I never saw
so many ptarmigan before. I believe there are as many as there are
reindeer in our big herd.”

But Mother Reindeer was looking this way and that, this way and that,
looking and listening, just as the caribou did.

“Mother!” shouted White Sox, suddenly, “look at our wild cousins on
that other ridge! See how scared they are! Ptarmigan can’t hurt them.”

“Keep quiet, my son!” commanded his mother. “That squawking of the
ptarmigan is a danger signal. There’s a hungry fox among the willows
who wanted to make his breakfast off a fat ptarmigan, or else it is—”

[Illustration: “The very next instant a big black wolf came out of the
willows.”]

“What, mother?”

White Sox had crept close to her side; but he also was looking this way
and that, this way and that.

“It may be a wolf,” said Mother Reindeer.

“A wolf!” repeated White Sox, in a whisper.

“If it were a herder looking for us, we should see his head and
shoulders above the willows. It must be that a wolf has scented us from
afar.”

Mother Reindeer was right. But it was not _one_ wolf. Hardly had she
said the words when _three_ big gray wolves left the willows by a small
ravine that ended near the herd of frightened caribou.

But the caribou could not see the wolves. White Sox forgot everything
except the fact that his cousins were in danger. He must warn them
instantly.

Before his mother could stop him, he had given out three piercing
bleats, “_He-awk! he-awk! he-awk!_”

The very next instant a big black wolf came out of the willows. It was
followed by a gray one. They started up the slope toward him and his
mother.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] The October antlers of the barren-ground caribou fawns of the
interior of Alaska are shorter than those of the fawns of reindeer.
Many of them are stubs only 4 or 5 inches long. Those of the reindeer
fawns are from 8 to 14 inches in length.




[Illustration: “At her heels went White Sox, terribly scared.”]




IV

A RACE FOR LIFE


“There! You’ve done it!” exclaimed Mother Reindeer. “Come on! Keep
right in my tracks and don’t turn your head to the right or left. Do
exactly as I do!”

Down the mossy slope she started at her swiftest speed. At her heels
went White Sox, terribly scared, and thankful that he could run so fast.

For a long time he thought of nothing but getting away from the fierce
wolves. Then he remembered his cousins. He wondered if they had heard
his signal, if they too were running for their lives.

Away off—some three miles ahead—Mother Reindeer had spied a lake,
shaped like an hour-glass. She was making for this lake as fast as
her feet could carry her. Not once did she look back to see where the
wolves were.

To White Sox the lake looked like two patches of water connected by a
narrow neck. He was thinking as he ran, wondering if his mother would
take him into one of these pieces of water, and if the wolves would
keep them there until the water froze over. He had been in icy water
once. Some Eskimo dogs had chased him and his uncle into the Arctic
Ocean in July, and had kept them there until a herder came and drove
the dogs away. His uncle had told him that lakes and streams would soon
begin to freeze; so he knew.

White Sox forgot his mother’s command and looked back. He had never
heard of Lot’s wife and the pillar of salt. My! How his heart beat when
he saw the two wolves behind him! He was just going to urge his mother
to greater speed, when his attention was called to something else.

They were entering a grassy bog. Mother Reindeer was slowing down to a
trot and heading toward the narrow neck between the two lakes.

At first White Sox was too much surprised to speak. “It looks as if it
weren’t very deep, mother,” he called warningly. “Let’s make for the
deepest water. Uncle Slim told me that wolves can’t swim very well in
deep water.”

His uncle had also told him that if wolves or dogs followed them into
deep water, reindeer could strike out with their hoofs and drown their
enemies. But White Sox was too much out of breath to explain all that
to his mother just at the moment.

But, bless your heart! Old Mother Reindeer knew all those things, and
much more.

“Save your breath, White Sox!” she said sternly. “Follow me closely and
do exactly as I do.”

Then, instead of hurrying, she went slower and slower.

White Sox was too much scared to think. He followed right in his
mother’s tracks, getting as close to her as he could, for he could hear
the whining yips of the wolves behind him.

They had now reached the shore of the narrow neck between the lakes.
Instead of jumping in and dashing across, Mother Reindeer began to
walk, slowly and very carefully.

“Huh! huh! huh!”

It was the hard breathing of the fierce wolves close behind White Sox.
He was terribly afraid their fangs would be nipping his hind legs in
about a minute. He made up his mind to bound past his mother and reach
the farther shore ahead of her.

But, oh my! It was lucky he did not.

That narrow neck was a slough. The water in it was not water at all.
The minute he put his foot in that thick, gummy, smelly oil, White
Sox knew why his mother had slowed down. It reached up to his mother’s
knees, and was so sticky that he could hardly wade through it. He
followed her meekly, with slow and careful steps.

The slough was about twelve yards across.[2] Halfway over, White Sox
looked back again. The two wolves had just reached the brink of the
slough.

In they plunged, together, in too great a hurry to notice the resinous
substance. But two jumps were enough for them. The oil splashed over
their sides and backs. Their great tails became heavy with it, so heavy
that they could hardly lift them. They turned slowly and waddled back
to the shore in a terrible mess. There was no breakfast of reindeer
meat for them that morning.

Mother Reindeer and White Sox reached the farther shore and stepped out
of the slough. They stamped their feet to shake off the sticky stuff,
but they couldn’t get rid of it.

Poor White Sox! His beautiful stockings were dyed a rich black color.

“We are like the caribou now, mother,” he said sorrowfully.

“Never mind. It will come off when we shed our hair next July,” Mother
Reindeer told him.

[Illustration: “There were no lame ones and no old ones. Now I know the
reason. The wolves caught and ate them.”]

White Sox was so thankful at having escaped the wolves that he did not
waste much time in regrets. He had learned a lesson that morning that
he would never forget.

“Mother, you are the most wonderful reindeer in all the world,” he said
proudly. “But why didn’t you tell me of your plan of escape?”

“There was no time, my son. Besides, fawns learn best by seeing and
doing.”

“Would the wolves have gone into that shallow oil slough if we had not
held back until they almost caught us?”

“Certainly not! The wolf is the greediest and most destructive of all
our enemies,” Mother Reindeer said. “We can only defeat him when we
outwit him and lead him into a trap.”

“I see!” cried White Sox. “If you had not tempted them to follow us
across the sticky slough, they would have gone around one of the lakes
and would still be chasing us. They cannot chase us now; their coats
are too heavy. Look at them, mother! They waddle like the porcupines
in the timbered country that Uncle Slim told us about. Where is the
timbered country?”

“It’s about ten days’ journey south of here.” Mother Reindeer told him.
Then she asked him if he still wished to live with the wild caribou.

“No, no, mother! There were no lame ones and no old ones among our wild
cousins. I wondered about it yesterday, but now I know the reason. The
wolves caught and ate them.”

“Now do you know,” Mother Reindeer asked him, “why our wild cousins are
always looking this way and that?”

“Yes,” White Sox answered, “I know now. It’s the wolves. They are
always on the lookout for wolves. They dare not sleep at night for fear
of these enemies. They dare not even graze in the willow valleys where
the best moss grows. They must have strong, sharp antlers with which to
protect themselves. I understand it all now, mother. Our wild cousins
must ever be on the watch for these sneaking wolves. No, mother! No
wild caribou life for me! Let us go back to the tame life of the big
herd.”

[Illustration: Wolf running]


FOOTNOTES:

[2] These oil lakes were discovered near the Arctic coast east of Point
Barrow a few years ago. In the fall of 1921 they were staked by two oil
companies.




[Illustration: “Mother Reindeer changed her course so that they almost
faced the wind.”]




V

WHITE SOX TRAVELS THROUGH A BLIZZARD


White Sox did not ask if his mother knew the way back to the big herd.
He had learned his lesson well. Besides, Mother Reindeer had told him
that it was not the first time she had visited the caribou. When she
said, “Come, let us be off!” he was quite ready to follow without
asking foolish questions.

Away they went at a brisk trot. Both were glad to be going home.
Presently Mother Reindeer said, “If all goes well, we should reach the
big herd by tomorrow night. I have a story to tell you before we get
there. All reindeer mothers tell this story to their fawns.”

Mother Reindeer would have told this story to White Sox long ago,
but she had wanted him to meet his wild cousins first. White Sox was
different from the other fawns, and—well, you’ll understand after you
have heard the story.

They had traveled about ten miles when a northwest breeze sprang up.
The air soon became full of flying snow. Mother Reindeer changed her
course so that they almost faced the wind. It was a terrible wind.
White Sox had never faced a blizzard before. He kept close in on his
mother’s side, and he snuggled his head to her shoulder. In this way
they trotted along at about six miles an hour.

The air became colder and colder. Soon the snow was like the fog—it
walled them in as they ran. Mother Reindeer did not slacken her speed,
and White Sox felt quite sure it was all right. But after they had gone
about twenty-four miles, he began to feel very tired and hungry.

“Please let us stop and eat a bit of moss,” he begged. “We didn’t
finish our breakfast, mother. I want to rest awhile.”

“Not yet, my son,” Mother Reindeer said. “A little farther on, when we
reach the other side of that ridge, we shall be out of the storm zone.
Then we will rest and eat.”

White Sox thought those last three miles were the longest he had ever
run in his life. He had never, never been quite so hungry. But on they
went, and at last the ridge was crossed. There was nice weather then.
And right there on the slope, under three inches of freshly fallen
snow, was a bed of moss. Um! It was the nicest moss White Sox had ever
tasted.

“Is it because I am so hungry, or because of the snow, that this moss
is so good?” he asked his mother.

“Both, my son,” she replied. “In summer, moss is either too dry or too
wet. We eat a little of it, but we like the grass and foliage better.
These produce our back-fat, which we must have to help us through the
winter. Snow gives the moss the right amount of moisture. We live on it
through the long winter, but every moon we lose some of our back-fat.
We are always glad when the snow goes and the grass comes.”

“Mother, what is the starvation moon?” White Sox asked, after they had
eaten awhile in silence. “I have heard Uncle Slim speak of it.”

“That is a spring moon,” said Mother Reindeer, and then she explained
all about it. “When the herd is kept too near the sea beach and the
snow is deep and hard, reindeer become very poor and weak. They have
to dig through the snow for all their meals, and there isn’t much to
eat after all their digging. Some reindeer mothers are so poor when
their fawns come that until the grass grows they don’t have milk enough
for them. There was a starvation moon after your sister was born, and
consequently her growth was stunted. Luckily for you, last winter and
spring were what is called ‘open.’ The herders moved the herd back a
day’s journey each moon. Your mother was in good condition and had
plenty of milk. You grew fast and strong.”

[Illustration: “‘Your mother was in good condition, and you grew fast
and strong.’”]

White Sox nibbled awhile; then he thought of something else that he
wanted to know.

“Mother, why did we change our course and go almost directly against
the wind when we were traveling through that blizzard?” he asked.

“That was to protect ourselves from the driving blast and from wolves,”
said Mother Reindeer. “Don’t you know that our hair slants backward
like the feathers of a duck? A driving wind that strikes us from behind
or on the side gets under our hair and chills us.”

“When we face the wind we can scent wolves and Eskimo dogs ahead of us.
But then wolves behind us can scent us, can’t they, mother?”

“Yes, my son; but no wolf or dog can face a blizzard like the snowstorm
we passed through today and overtake a reindeer or a caribou. Our
enemies like to scent us, or see us, and then sneak up as they tried to
do this morning. Our wild cousins are in the greatest danger when they
are resting.”

“Resting!” exclaimed White Sox. “Why, mother, our poor cousins don’t
know what rest is! But tell me, please, when the snowflakes became hard
sleet today, didn’t they hurt your eyes?”

“No, my son. I held my head down in such a way that one of my branches
sheltered my left eye most of the time. My right eye was protected by
the broad shovel prong over my nose. I could close my left eye to rest
it while running. Even when we have no horns, we can close one eye and
turn our head so as to protect the other. Until you have learned this
trick, you must always crowd in on the lee side of a big reindeer for
protection when in a blizzard.”

“I’ll remember that, mother. But I’m very sleepy now. May I rest
awhile?”

“Yes. We’ll go to the top of that little knoll over yonder. You may
sleep while I am chewing my cud.”

When they, had reached the place, Mother Reindeer selected a nice bed
of moss covered with a clean sheet of freshly fallen snow. They needed
no blankets other than their thick, warm coats. In about two minutes
White Sox was fast asleep.

[Illustration: Reindeer eating]




[Illustration: “And under the bright arctic moon, there on the very top
of the continent, she told him the story.”]




VI

UNDER THE ARCTIC MOON


If you wish to know where White Sox was sleeping, you must get your
geography and turn to the map of Alaska. Now find the seventy-first
parallel. North of that you will notice a little point of land jutting
out into the Arctic Ocean, called Point Barrow. Just southwest of that
point is Barrow, the village to which the big herd belonged.

The little knoll where White Sox was sleeping was on the seventy-first
parallel, away up at the top of the North American continent. The
freshly fallen snow stretched eastward and westward, northward and
southward, from this little knoll; in fact, it covered all the land
from the seventieth parallel to the Arctic Ocean. But White Sox knew
nothing about parallels and such things. To him that arctic land was
the whole world.

Mother Reindeer knew a lot more than that. She was seventeen years old.
She had seen and heard so much that she was very wise.

When White Sox waked from his nap, he thought it was daylight. The
brightness dazzled him. He winked his eyes and looked about him. A
great big arctic moon was shining down upon him. What a beautiful
moon it was! And how the snow glistened and shone! He winked his eyes
several times; then he looked for his mother.

She was pawing through the snow near him to get moss for her midnight
lunch.

“Mother, this is the whitest world I’ve ever seen,” he said. Then he
sprang up and began to dig moss for himself, for he was hungry again.

A light breeze was blowing from the northwest, and the air was much
colder. White Sox rubbed his face against his mother’s shoulder to
brush the frost from his eyes and nose. Then he took a mouthful of moss
and looked about him.

There was not a living thing to be seen. Yes, there was! A great arctic
owl was perched on a little mound not very far away.

“Mother, are owls as wise as they look?” White Sox asked. He took
another bite of moss.

[Illustration: “‘He swoops down to catch his own supper and meets his
finish in the sharp claws and teeth of the lynx.’”]

“No, not always,” Mother Reindeer answered, “but sometimes they are
cunning enough to outwit sleepy reindeer mothers and kill their newborn
fawns.”

“Do the owls ever get caught by our other enemies?”

“Sometimes. Among our lesser enemies the lynx is said to be wiser than
the wisest owl. The lynx eats rabbits, mice, and birds. He studies the
habits of these creatures. He knows that the owl is always watching to
swoop down on some helpless field mouse. My own mother told me that
when a lynx is hungry for owl meat, he will burrow in well-packed snow,
leaving a small opening in the crust about the size of your tail. He
then lies on his back in his snow cave and pokes his short bobtail
through the roof and wags it to and fro. When the owl sees it, he
thinks it is a field mouse. He swoops down to catch his own supper and
meets his finish in the sharp claws and teeth of the lynx.”

“The lynx are more cunning than the wolves. Do you fear them as much,
mother?”

“No, my son. When they attack our kind, it is usually a weak fawn or an
injured reindeer.”

“Mother, that little caribou cousin of mine—the fawn with the big
antlers—couldn’t run very fast. Do you think the wolves would catch
him?” White Sox now asked.

“It’s quite likely they would,” said Mother Reindeer. “The weaklings
always go first to feed our enemies, and their going helps to save the
strong ones. A wild caribou can never hope to die a natural death. Our
wild cousins know that at some time or other they must be caught and
eaten by their enemies. Their freedom, which appeared so attractive to
you, is dangerous and deprives them of protection. Even when some of
their number are always on watch, prowling enemies will take them by
surprise, as they did yesterday.”

“Mother,” said White Sox, thoughtfully, “knowing this, why didn’t one
of us stand watch while the other slept?”

“One of us did,” she answered. “I slept the ‘caribou sleep,’ half a
minute on and half a minute off, while you slept the reindeer sleep.”

White Sox was greatly surprised when he heard this. He felt that he had
been very thoughtless and selfish. “You should have let me do my share
of watching,” he said.

“You were too tired, my son,” his mother told him. “Besides, you knew
nothing about the ways of caribou and wolves before we came on this
visit to our cousins. In the big herd the reindeer sleep long and
sound; they have no fear of enemies. The Eskimo herders and the collies
watch over them. Cowbells frighten the wolves and scare them away.”

“Yes, mother, I understand that now. Reindeer life is much safer than
caribou life, but—”

“But what?”

White Sox seemed to be puzzled about something. He thought about it for
a minute, and then he said, “Mother, you never said a word when the
herders killed my two big brothers. Did you think it right?”

Mother Reindeer did not speak, but she nodded her head upward and
downward, very slowly.

“They killed two of my uncles also,” continued White Sox, “but they
never touched my sisters or my aunts. And now I come to think of it,
mother, it is always the brothers and uncles that are killed. Are we
born to be eaten?”

Mother Reindeer looked very serious. “It is time I told you the big
story,” she said. “After you have heard it you will understand many
things that seem strange to you now. Come, if you’ve finished your
meal. Lie here by my side. No wolves can surprise us on this knoll. The
beautiful moon is our friend. I am going to tell you how the first wild
caribou was tamed and became a reindeer.”

After they had made themselves comfortable, Mother Reindeer said,
“First I must tell you that it will be a white world for seven moons.
From now until we shed our coats next summer, you may be known in the
big herd as ‘Black Sox’!”

Poor White Sox! He looked sadly at his dark stockings, which
were almost as black as the feathers of a raven; but he answered
thoughtfully: “I am thankful my nose is still white. But I am not
worrying about my name and color. I want to hear the story of how the
first caribou was tamed, mother.”

This pleased Mother Reindeer very much. “Good, my son!” she said. “Now
for the story!”

And under the bright arctic moon, on the very top of the great American
continent, she told him the story.




[Illustration: “‘He was the first caribou that ever had any white
markings.’”]




VII

MOTHER REINDEER’S STORY OF WHITE FEET


“Ever and ever so long ago, on a fine summer day, a great herd of wild
caribou was browsing near the seashore,” said Mother Reindeer. “This
shore was far away toward the setting sun, across the great piece of
water. There were no reindeer at the time of which I am speaking. This
herd of caribou was more than ten times as large as our own big herd.
There were so many of them, and they were so strong, that they had
grown careless.

“Wolves did not usually bother the caribou in summer. There had been no
hunters chasing them for a long time. The great herd felt quite safe.
It was their custom to keep a few hundred of their swiftest runners on
picket duty all around the herd, to watch for enemies. But, as I have
just told you, they had grown careless.

“In this great herd of wild caribou was a fawn with white legs and
white nose. He was the first caribou that ever had any white markings.
All the others were very proud of him. They named him ‘White Feet.’”

“Did I look like him, mother?” asked White Sox, who was much interested
in the story.

“Yes, indeed! You were exactly like him in every way, my son,” said
Mother Reindeer, proudly. “The fame of this first marked fawn spread
far and wide. Many other bands of caribou came to see him. They all
agreed that he was born to be king of the caribou. So much attention
caused his mother to be very careful to train him in the right way. He
had many, many things to learn.”

“Yes, mother. A fawn who is going to be a great leader must know more
than the other reindeer fawns,” said White Sox.

Mother Reindeer was much pleased at the interest her son was taking
in the story. “That is very true,” she said. “White Feet was very
observing and thoughtful. He became wise while he was a fawn. He
remembered what his mother told him. He often thought about it and
planned what he would do when he grew up to be the leader.

“Now, as I told you before, this great herd of wild caribou felt a
little too safe. One fine summer day, when they were grazing near the
shore, a large band of hungry wolves scented them. These crafty enemies
came nearer and nearer without the herd’s knowing anything about them.
At last, when they thought they were close enough, out they rushed. The
terrified herd of caribou stampeded pell-mell into the icy water of the
Arctic Ocean.”

“Oh!” gasped White Sox. “Did the wolves get many of them?”

“Wait and listen,” said Mother Reindeer.

“White Feet and six other young fawns who always followed him had gone
up on a hill to the right of the great herd. They were not caught in
the stampede, but they were cut off from the herd. A large band of
fierce wolves was between them and the caribou. All the fawns except
young White Feet were very much frightened. They began to ‘mill,’ or
run around in a circle. White Feet remembered what his mother had
told him about wolves. He was only half your age, but he took command
of the little band of fawns and led them down the other side of the
hill, across a narrow valley, and then up the side of a high ridge.
He planned to get over the summit and out of sight before any of the
wolves began to look for stragglers.

“When they reached the top of the ridge, they could see the herd
swimming about in the water. The many antlers looked like a great mass
of brushwood afloat. And they could see the wolves pacing up and down
along the shore, either too cowardly or too wise to follow the caribou
into the water.

“The fawns stood on the high ridge, their mouths wide open. Great drops
of perspiration fell from their lolling tongues. Young White Feet was
wondering how long the wolves would keep the caribou in the icy water,
and how he could lead his little band back to their mothers. He looked
all about him, this way and that, and what do you think he saw?

“Three big gray wolves were creeping up the side of the ridge, coming
straight toward him and the fawns.”

“Oh!” cried White Sox, greatly excited. “What did he do, mother?”

“He told the fawns to follow him and to do just as he did,” said Mother
Reindeer. “He had seen a small bay farther along the beach. It was made
by a long, narrow spit of land that curved like the main branch of my
antlers. ‘Come on!’ he cried. ‘It’s a race for life to that little bay
down yonder.’

“Then away he went, with the other six fawns at his heels. Down, down,
down toward the bay they raced. When they were about halfway there,
White Feet saw smoke ahead. It was coming from a skin tent that lay
between them and the bay.”

[Illustration: “‘Then, just as the first wolf was about to seize the
hindermost fawn, he and his little band swerved to one side and burst
into the big tent.’”]

“Oh, a herder’s tent!” cried White Sox.

“No, indeed!” said Mother Reindeer. “There were no herders in those
days, my son. It was the tent of a hunter. White Feet didn’t know which
was the more to be feared, a wolf or a hunter. Both were the enemies of
the caribou. And the little band of fawns were depending on him to lead
them to safety.”

“I understand,” said White Sox. “A leader must decide things for
himself, and do it quickly. He can’t ask his mother every time he faces
a duty.”

“Yes,” said Mother Reindeer, “and the three gray wolves forced White
Feet to decide quickly this time. They were coming down the slope
behind the fawns. White Feet knew that the wolves were gaining on
them, but as he looked ahead, he saw that the tent flap was open. He
felt quite sure that his little band could not reach the bay, and he
had been told that wolves would avoid a hunter’s tent in daylight. But
these beasts thought they were surely going to have a big feed of fawn
meat.

“White Feet shouted to his followers to turn and dash into the tent.
Then, just as the first wolf was about to seize the hindermost fawn, he
and his little band swerved to one side and burst into the big tent.

“Whiz! whiz! whiz!

“The native hunter, all unknown to the fawns and wolves, had been
watching the race from behind the tent. Three gray wolves now lay on
the ground outside, pinned fast by the hunter’s terrible arrows.”

“Oh, mother, mother!” cried White Sox, who was trembling with
excitement. “Did the hunter kill White Feet and his six fawns?”

Mother Reindeer looked at her son for a moment in silence and then
continued her story.




[Illustration: “‘A woman and her three children squatted near the
fire.’”]




VIII

THE FIRST HUMAN FRIEND


“Inside the big tent,” Mother Reindeer went on, “a woman and her three
children squatted near the fire. They were eating a freshly cooked
duck. They were so taken by surprise when the little band of caribou
fawns dashed in through their open tent flap that at first they could
not speak or move. Then the mother sprang up and fastened the tent flap
tight.

“White Feet and his followers had come to a stop at the farther side of
the tent. They stood bunched together, with heads erect. All but White
Feet were shaking with fear. They had seen the woman close the tent
flap. They knew that they were prisoners now, and they thought that
they had escaped one death only to meet another. Then they saw the tent
flap open a little way. The hunter peeped in; then he opened it wider,
slipped inside the tent, and closed the flap quickly.

“White Feet noticed that the hunter carried his big bow in his hand. He
noticed also that he and his family all wore clothes made of caribou
skins. They spoke to each other in strange sounds such as the fawns
had never before heard. They all appeared to be very much excited and
pleased. They looked at the fawns, and the fawns looked at them.

“Suddenly the bigger boy gave a loud cry and pointed at White Feet. The
hunter and the others looked at White Feet, too. Then they talked in
excited tones.

“White Feet, of course, didn’t know what they were saying, but he felt
quite sure that they were talking about his white markings. Oh, how he
wished his mother had been with him! Then he remembered that a leader
must not think of himself when others depend on him. Here were the six
poor little fawns scared half to death, and he had promised to take
care of them. What should he do?

“He looked at the bigger boy, and the bigger boy looked at him. There
was something in the boy’s eyes that gave White Feet courage. He didn’t
seem like an enemy. He stood near his father, but his head came only
as high as the hunter’s elbow.

“White Feet made up his mind to trust this boy. Then he did the boldest
thing ever done by a caribou. He walked across the tent to where the
bigger boy stood and rubbed his head against the boy’s arm.”

“Oh!” gasped White Sox. “How brave he was!”

“Yes,” said Mother Reindeer, “that little caribou fawn was the first of
his kind to try to make friends with an enemy. Of course the boy was
surprised. He touched White Feet on the head. He spoke kindly to him
and patted his shoulder. All the others stopped talking and watched
them.

“The bigger boy stooped down and stroked White Feet’s beautiful
stockings. White Feet rubbed his head against the boy’s arm again and
tried to tell him how much he wanted him for a friend.

“The boy’s young sister wanted to touch the fawn’s pretty stockings.
She was a little bit afraid. She moved close beside the bigger boy, put
out her hand very carefully, and just touched the top of the nearest
white stocking. Then she laughed, and the two boys laughed, and their
mother laughed. And what do you think White Feet did?

“_He kissed that little girl._ Yes, he did—right on the cheek. He
licked her cheek with his warm tongue.

“The little girl wasn’t a bit afraid of him after that. She stroked his
white stockings, talked baby talk to him, and then she put her arms
about his neck and loved him.

“White Feet felt pretty sure that the children would not let the hunter
kill him—just then. But he had to think for Blackie—the other male fawn
of his little band—and the five does. He told Blackie and the doe fawns
to make friends with the other boy and his mother. At first they were
too scared to move, but at last poor Blackie got courage enough to walk
up to the younger boy and rub his head against his arm. This seemed to
please the younger boy very much. Before long all the doe fawns had
followed his example, and the human beings were laughing and talking
kindly to them.

“The hunter had been shaking his head, but now he nodded it upward and
downward. White Feet felt sure that he was saying ‘yes’ to what the
children had been asking, and that none of the little band would be
killed at once. White Feet watched the hunter very carefully, but he
kept close to the bigger boy because the boy was his first friend.

“After a little while the hunter made two small halters of sealskin
rope. He put one over White Feet’s head and the other over Blackie’s.
Then the bigger boy led White Feet out of the tent and on to the narrow
spit. The younger boy led Blackie. The five doe fawns followed them,
and so did the little girl and her mother and father.

[Illustration: “‘Dainten and White Feet loved each other.’”]

“When they were all far out on the spit, the hunter stretched his fish
net across the narrow neck of ground. White Feet and his band were now
prisoners on the spit. They were very glad to be alive and safe from
the wolves. They didn’t know how long the hunter would let them live,
and oh! how they did want their mothers! But they were very hungry too,
and when White Feet saw some nice grass and scrubby willows, you may be
quite sure that the little band forgot their troubles and ate a good
supper.

“Afterward White Feet examined the long, narrow spit. It was low and
rolling, and most of it was covered with moss and grass. There were
dwarf willows too, and along its western shore, under a long bluff,
was a level drift of old winter snow. The place looked mighty good to
White Feet, especially when he found that the children were going to
live on the sand spit with them. That very night the hunter and his
family moved their tent inside the fish-net corral. The little band of
fawns had a long sleep in perfect safety.

“Next day the hunter and his wife stood and watched the fawns play with
the children. The hunter seemed to be most interested in White Feet.
When he spoke to him, White Feet would go right up to the hunter and
rub his head against the man’s arm or leg. You see, White Feet had
thought it all out and decided that the band must have the hunter for a
friend; then their lives would be safe. But of course the hunter didn’t
know that. He was very much puzzled. He stared at White Feet and talked
to him as if the fawn with the unheard-of markings were the returned
spirit of his dead father, who had been a chief and a mighty hunter.
After a few days the hunter went away.

“The captive fawns soon forgot their sorrow and fear. The spit was a
safe home. They had a variety of forage and plenty of it. They had
loving companions. They could sleep soundly without fear of enemies. It
was a new life to them and they liked it.

“The bigger boy’s name was Dainten. White Feet soon discovered that.
The two were together nearly all the time. They loved each other.

“But White Feet always remembered that the hunter and his family
dressed in caribou skins. This made him very thoughtful. He felt quite
sure that if all his followers were allowed to live and grow up, they
must find a way to be of use to the hunter.”




[Illustration: “White Feet smelled at them, but he couldn’t make out
what Dainten intended to do.”]




IX

WHITE FEET FINDS A WAY OF SERVING MAN


“One day,” continued Mother Reindeer, “some driftwood was washed up by
the sea. Dainten pulled the pieces up on the beach. He found two that
were crooked near the end. These pieces were of the same length, and
the crooked ends were bent in about the same way.

“White Feet smelled at them, but he couldn’t make out what Dainten
intended to do as he watched him place the two pieces side by side,
a short distance apart. Dainten then took some shorter pieces of
driftwood, placed them crosswise on the others, and lashed them fast
with sealskin thongs. It was a strange-looking thing he had made. The
crooked ends bent upward. To the crosspiece nearest these he fastened
a stout rope of sealskin thongs. He then placed his little sister and
brother on the thing and pulled them over the snow.”

“I know!” exclaimed White Sox, quickly. “That was a sled.”

“It was,” said Mother Reindeer. “White Feet stood and watched them use
the sled. He was doing some hard thinking. He wanted to do everything
he saw Dainten do. When the bigger boy had given his little brother and
sister one ride, White Feet asked Dainten to let him draw the sled. Of
course Dainten didn’t know what White Feet was saying; but when White
Feet put his neck under the rope and tried to take his place in front
of the sled, Dainten began to understand.

“He laughed and patted White Feet. He put the rope around his neck and
tied it so it would not slip and choke him. Then he tied a small piece
of rope to the right side of the halter band that White Feet was still
wearing, and another piece to the left side. It was the hour after
sunset. The snow, which had been soft and mushy at noon, was now hard
and crusted.

[Illustration: “‘To prevent its running against his heels, he swerved
to the left, giving the riders a great spill.’”]

“Dainten took his place on the front end of the sled and held the lines
in his hands. His sister and brother sat behind him. When all was
ready, he gave a slap of the lines on the fawn’s sides. White Feet
understood. He started very slowly and carefully, but he found that the
loaded sled was easy to draw over the trail of hard snow. When Dainten
urged him to go faster, he broke into a trot. All the other fawns
joined the party. It was wonderful fun.

“On their return to the starting place, Dainten thought he would see
how fast they could go. He gave a harder slap of the lines. Away they
went down the gentle slope. The snow from the hind hoofs of White Feet
hit their faces and made the children laugh. How glad they were, and
how happy! And how proud White Feet was to be of service to them!

“They were going so fast as they neared the bottom of the slope that
White Feet could not keep ahead of the sled. To prevent its running
against his heels, he swerved to the left, giving the riders a great
spill.”

“Mother, that’s a wonderful story!” cried White Sox. “That was the
first sled reindeer, the first reindeer harness, the first reindeer
ride, and the first spill!”

“Yes, my son,” said Mother Reindeer, “the very first. It was the
beginning of a new kind of service to man. As I told you before, the
hunter was away. He came home while the children were sledding on the
snow. He stepped from his boat and watched them in great surprise. And
oh, how he laughed when the sled upset! He patted White Feet and spoke
kindly to him, and he nodded his head upward and downward several
times. Then he put the harness on Blackie and tied him in front of the
little sled.

“White Feet told Blackie to watch for the signal and go very carefully.
Dainten’s brother drove him. Blackie did good work. You see, he had
watched White Feet and had learned how to do as he did. Dainten’s
brother was very proud of Blackie.

“After a while the hunter went to his boat. All the children and the
fawns followed him to see what he had brought from his hunting trip.
First he took out a lot of ducks, some geese, and a swan. Then he
unloaded a great many brown and white ptarmigan. His wife was much
pleased when she saw that he had brought her two hair seals. She and
the children carried the birds and dragged the seals up to the tent.
But the fawns didn’t follow then. The hunter was pulling some fresh
caribou skins out of his boat.”

“Oh!” cried White Sox, in excitement.

“Yes,” said Mother Reindeer, “and the very first skin White Feet
smelled at was his own mother’s. The neck and hind legs were all chewed
up by the teeth of wolves. Of course he felt very badly about it. The
world seemed a lonely place to him after losing his mother. But he knew
again that a leader must not think of himself. He smelled at the other
skins. They all showed the teeth marks of wolves, and all of them were
the skins of old mothers.

“White Feet knew that the old mothers were usually the weaklings of the
herd. Their death saved many fawns from being caught. Then it came to
White Feet that the death of these mothers might be the means of saving
his own little band of fawns. The hunter and his family would now have
plenty of caribou skins for the coming winter. They would not need his
and Blackie’s and those of the doe fawns.

“It was while White Feet was smelling at the skins that Dainten
returned from the tent. The boy stood beside White Feet and looked at
him, just for all the world as if he understood that the poor torn skin
had belonged to White Feet’s mother. From that minute Dainten and White
Feet became lifelong friends. Dainten patted the fawn and tried to
comfort him. To White Feet a human being had taken the place of his own
dear old mother.

“Later, the hunter helped the boys make better harness for White Feet
and Blackie. It was the kind now used by our herders. Instead of the
curved piece of wood for each shoulder, he used a strap of sealskin
about as broad as your ear, placing it over the left shoulder and neck
and between the fore legs. The two ends of this band were fastened to
the end of the single trace, back of the right fore leg, where they
passed under the belly band. The trace stretched from the ends of the
collar band to the sled, outside of the right hind leg.

“With these harnesses the hunter trained White Feet and Blackie to
work together. He was well pleased with them and sent his five dogs
to his brother, who lived a day’s journey down the beach. The hunter
knew that it would require much of the dried meat he had put up through
the summer to feed his team dogs through the winter. His new sled deer
didn’t eat meat. That meant less work for the hunter and his wife.

“Of course the hunter was anxious to try out these sled deer with a
heavy load. Luckily for White Feet and Blackie, their muscles were hard
and strong by the time the first new snow came. They had plenty of
back-fat too. All their work had been but play, but now they were to
be of real service to man. The hunter’s supplies, gathered during the
summer, must be moved from the spit to a small grove of alders a day’s
journey inland. This was the hunter’s winter home.”

[Illustration: Reindeer pulling sled]




[Illustration: The first load hauled by White Feet and Blackie.]




X

THE HUNTER BECOMES A HERDER


“The first load hauled by White Feet and Blackie,” continued Mother
Reindeer, “consisted of the tent skins and poles, sleeping skins,
clothing, cooking pots, and part of the stock of dried fish. It was a
big load, but it looked bigger than it really was. The other native
people were very much surprised to see such a load drawn by two
pastured caribou fawns.

“On the following day White Feet and Blackie were so tired and stiff
that Dainten tethered them out in a good moss patch near the winter
camp. His brother and sister kept watch over them. The five doe fawns
stayed near White Feet and Blackie. The hunter made them a small corral
of alders, so that his little herd would be well protected from wolves
in the nighttime.

“This hunter was a wise man. He knew that when wild caribou had been
chased for several days they became very thin and poor. He now found
that moss was not so strengthening to the fawns as meat was to the
dogs. He wished to keep the little herd until they were grown up; so
he took good care of them and allowed them to rest well before he took
them back to the summer camp for another big load. You see, my son,
the fierce hunter was becoming a good herder. The taming of the fawns
had also tamed him and his family. The pastured caribou fawns were now
called reindeer.”

“Did they never see any of the wild caribou again?” White Sox asked.

“No, not to speak to,” Mother Reindeer said, “but they soon became
used to the ways of their human friends and were quite content. Before
the November moon was gone, all the seal oil, dried fish, and meat
had been hauled from the spit to the winter camp. The hunter had more
than enough food stored up for his family; so he gave his attention to
studying the ways and habits of caribou and taking care of his first
little herd of reindeer.

“On clear days, and on nights when the moon was shining, he had the
children take turns at watching the herd while it grazed. He took the
sharp claws of the big Oogarook seals and fastened them to the ends of
pieces of alder, about as big as your hoof. These made fine rakes or
moss scratchers. The children used these scratchers for digging moss,
which they put inside the corral for the fawns to eat on stormy days
and dark nights. The first herder was a thoughtful man; he didn’t want
his herd to grow thin and poor.”

“He was more thoughtful than some of our herders that Uncle Slim tells
about,” said White Sox.

Mother Reindeer nodded her head. “The first herder and his family had
become so fond of their reindeer that they all seemed like one family,”
she said. “The human beings couldn’t understand the caribou language,
but White Feet and his band soon came to understand many native
words. Dainten’s brother was named Tah-ne-na. His sister’s name was
Tah-nes-ka.”

White Sox had listened carefully to every word his mother had said. To
him it was a very wonderful story. The more he thought about it, the
more he wished to be like White Feet in mind as well as in body. After
pondering for a while in silence, he said:

“I can see all the pictures now, mother—the careless caribou herd, the
sneaking wolves, and the little band of fawns on the hill. Always the
weakest of the herd were sacrificed in order that the stronger ones
might escape and live a little while longer. Always danger, unrest,
and fear! I see the other pictures—one brave caribou fawn thinking and
planning for the safety of those who depended on him, and boldly doing
things no other caribou had ever dared to do. I see that first corral
on the narrow spit, the first little sled and harness, the first little
caribou serving man for the love of him. Each needed something the
other had to give. The fawns needed protection. The human beings needed
beasts of burden that would be a source of food, instead of those for
whom food had to be provided.”

[Illustration: “‘Our herders watch us at night only during the season
when the ground is bare and we are inclined to scatter.’”]

White Sox had learned his lesson. Mother Reindeer felt proud of him.

“But listen, son,” she said. “I have not yet finished my story. The
first little herd of reindeer increased in numbers as the years went
by, doubling their number every third spring. The two boys grew to
manhood and married, and had families of their own. The old hunter and
his wife died. There came a time when the herd was too large for the
corrals. Dainten and Tah-ne-na had to take on new herders to help with
the work. They now herded their reindeer in the open, day and night.”

“We are not herded at night, mother,” White Sox said.

“That is true, my son,” said Mother Reindeer. “On this side of the big
waters there are not so many wolves. Our herders watch us at night
only during the season when the ground is bare and we are inclined to
scatter.”

“How did you get across the big waters, mother?”

“That is what I’m going to tell you now,” she said.




[Illustration: “‘My mother was a beautiful spotted reindeer.’”]




XI

HOW MOTHER REINDEER CAME TO ALASKA


“At last the herd became so big that it had to be divided,” said Mother
Reindeer. “Dainten had always claimed White Feet. Tah-ne-na had claimed
Blackie. Now Dainten took all the spotted and white reindeer and moved
toward the rising sun, where his wife’s people lived. Tah-ne-na had
only the dark reindeer for his herd. He moved toward the setting sun,
where his wife’s people had come from. They moved the two herds so far
apart that they could never mingle again. Tah-ne-na’s herd multiplied
and stocked the shores toward the setting sun. Dainten’s herd increased
rapidly and spread along the shores toward the rising sun.”

“You belonged to Dainten, didn’t you, mother?” White Sox asked.

“Dainten and White Feet had been dead for ages and ages before I was
born,” said Mother Reindeer. “I belonged to one of the herds that
descended from White Feet. My mother was a beautiful spotted reindeer,
and my father was a great leader of a band of wild caribou. When I was
a fawn, all the members of our family were roped and hobbled. We were
taken on board a big floating corral and brought across the waters
to a place some thirty days’ journey from here. That floating corral
was a long, narrow, smoky, noisy, quivering thing that moved over the
surface of the waters toward the rising sun. It was a dreadful journey.
Our mothers were too much scared to eat. The fawns were bleating all
the time. For two suns there was no land anywhere in sight—nothing but
water and fog, water and fog. We didn’t know what the herders were
going to do to us. We were all very much afraid.

“At last we came to another shore. The floating corral moved close up
to the land and we were taken off. The place was strange. The people
were strange. We were still very much afraid, but it was better to be
on shore than on the floating corral. After a few days the floating
corral came again and landed more reindeer. We were very glad to see
our old friends, and we grew more contented.

“But in this new land we had strange men for herders, to help our own
herders who came with us on the floating corral. They were too old to
learn how to take care of us. After a while we had more new herders,
men who wore shoes that curved up at the toes, like boat sleds. They
wore high caps stuffed with feathers and spoke a strange language. They
threw the lasso straight, without warning, instead of curling it three
times around overhead before shooting it out. But at last we had some
young men for herders, and they did much better by us. Young people are
like fawns; they learn quickly. It was then that we began to love the
new land and our new herders.”

[Illustration: “‘We were taken on board a big floating corral and
brought across the waters.’”]

“You’ve seen a great deal, mother, but how did you get up here, thirty
days’ journey from the place where you first lived in this new land?”
White Sox asked.

“That’s another story, my son,” Mother Reindeer said. “I will tell you
about it after all your other lessons are learned. This much I will
tell you now. One day some strange men came to our new land and talked
with our herders. In a little while two reindeer herds on this side
of the big waters were put together and driven north. The little bit
of winter daylight had just begun to grow longer as we started. We
didn’t know where we were going, but we thought it must be on a long
trip, because some sleds were loaded with food for the herders who were
driving us.

“Our journey was on both land and sea. The sea was frozen over. We were
on it two days and nights. Our sleds could not haul enough moss to feed
the entire herd. The weak reindeer dropped on the ice and were left
behind. Some ate too much of the salty frost that covered the ice. It
made them thirsty. They became faint and were left behind. After we
left the ice, our way lay across a mountainous country. When we had
crossed that, wolves scented us and followed us many nights. It was a
hard journey, much too hard and long for mothers at that time of the
season.

“But at the end of the second moon we reached the place near the sea
beach, where we now live. There we found many floating corrals among
the ice and many strange men in houses. Then came the most terrible
part of it all. Half the herd was butchered and hauled into the village
where the men were.”

“Mother!” exclaimed White Sox, in horror. “Did they kill all the males
at once?”

“There were but few males in the herd,” she answered. “Many of those
killed were mothers and sisters. We didn’t understand it. But your
grandmother—her name was Spot—talked with a wild caribou that came near
the herd. He told her that hunters had killed a great many wild caribou
that winter and taken their bodies to the village. Together they
reasoned it out that the men had no other kind of food, and that we had
been brought there to keep that great herd of men from starving. Spot
was a sled deer—”

“I thought you said she was my grandmother,” White Sox broke in. “Did
the reindeer mothers have to draw sleds after the big killing?”

“Spot did,” said Mother Reindeer. “Your Uncle Slim was a fawn then. He
trotted along beside her when she pulled the loaded sled. The herders
made a little harness for him and worked him with his mother.”

       *       *       *       *       *

That was the end of Mother Reindeer’s story. If you want to know more
about the big killing at Point Barrow, you must read about how the
whaling vessels were frozen in the ice there and how more than two
hundred white men were reported starving during the coldest part of the
long winter. The herders sacrificed their reindeer to save the lives
of these men. Of course Mother Reindeer did not know anything about
whaling vessels; she called a ship a floating corral. But she was a
wise old mother reindeer, for all that. Don’t you think so?




[Illustration: “Away he dashed, with Mother Reindeer at his heels.”]




XII

WHITE SOX LEARNS HIS LAST LESSON


White Sox and his mother had been silent for a long time. But White Sox
was not asleep; he had a great deal to think about, and he had just
made up his mind that he must not be a baby any longer. He had been to
school and had learned many lessons. He must be a leader now. And now
was the time for him to make a start.

“Mother,” he said, after he had looked about him this way and that,
this way and that, “the moon is going to bed. I see a little streak of
daylight creeping over the edge of the world. Let us take a run through
that little valley below and finish our lesson on the top of that
ridge to the north of here, after we have eaten some breakfast.”

“All right,” said Mother Reindeer. She rose and stretched herself, but
she did not offer any advice. She wanted to see what kind of leader
White Sox would make.

First he tried to find which way the breeze was blowing. Then he turned
his nose in that direction and sniffed several times. But not a thing
could he scent. He looked very carefully everywhere. But not a thing
could he see.

“Come on!” he cried; and down the knoll he started at a swift trot. He
was thinking how much he wished to be like White Feet, but all the same
he kept a sharp lookout to the east and to the west while he kept his
nose turned to the north.

There was plenty of fine moss being trampled under his feet, but he did
not stop to taste it. Up, up he went, to the very top of the next low
ridge. When he saw that all was safe, he began to feed on the splendid
moss under the blanket of snow.

Presently he looked up and said, “White Feet died a natural death,
didn’t he, mother?”

“Yes, so we are told,” Mother Reindeer answered. “But he reached a ripe
old age before he died.”

White Sox ate awhile in silence; then he spoke again. “I think I
understand it all now, mother. White Feet was allowed to live because
his services to man were of more value than his flesh and skin. He
was a great leader and a wise teacher. He taught his herd and their
offspring obedience to man and thankfulness for protection. He changed
the order of things entirely.

“In olden times the poor mothers were sacrificed to feed the wolves.
Now the sons are sacrificed to feed man, their protector. The sons pay
the debt which enables the mothers to live in peace and safety.”

[Illustration: “‘In olden times the poor mothers were sacrificed to
feed the wolves.’”]

“Yes, my son,” said the proud mother, “and you must know that the wild
caribou have decreased in numbers year by year; but the reindeer,
under the protection of man, have multiplied until now they form many
mighty herds.”

“That proves that the new way is better, mother,” said White Sox.
“Service and sacrifice for the males! That is now our law. That is why
you didn’t complain when my two big brothers were butchered.”

Mother Reindeer nodded her head.

“Our worst enemies did us a kind turn when they stampeded White Feet
and his little band into the hunter’s tent,” continued White Sox. “And
man, our next worst enemy, did us a better turn when he taught us to
serve him. Mother, if I am to live to a ripe old age and die a natural
death, I must make myself so useful to man that my services will be of
greater value than my flesh and skin. Isn’t that right, mother?”

“That’s the whole lesson, my son,” Mother Reindeer said. “And now I
will tell you that I have always wanted to be the mother of a second
White Feet. I was pleased because you were marked like the great
leader, but I am more pleased that you are able to think like him. A
leader has to face many trials of courage and many temptations, and
has great cares and responsibilities. It is only by overcoming all
temptations and weaknesses and by boldly doing your duty that you
become of great service to man and to your kind.”

White Sox nodded his head. “Yes, mother,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve
been worrying about my spoiled stockings and what the herd would think
of these black ones, but now I’m glad my legs are black. By the time
the hair comes next summer, and my new white stockings appear, I shall
have learned many more lessons. I’ve one more question to ask. Do you
ever wish to return to the land where White Feet lived?”

“No,” said the kind old mother, “this is a better land for reindeer.
The moss here is better. We have more timber, better sleds and harness,
good herding dogs to help keep off our enemies, and good herders. I’m
getting old, my son, but I hope to live to see you leader of the big
herd—as wise and useful as your great ancestor.”

“Thank you, mother dear,” he said gently. “Thank you for telling me the
big story. My! what a foolish fawn I was—wanting to stay with our wild
cousins! How glad I am the wolves chased us away!”

He looked to the north, then to the west. He sniffed the air and turned
this way and that, this way and that. At last he turned to the north
and looked very steadily.

What do you think he saw?

A cloud of fog was rising from the ground. It was only a few miles
ahead of them. The morning sky was bright and clear. The air was very
cold.

“It looks like fog, but it can’t be fog,” he said doubtfully. Then he
became excited.

“Mother, our big herd is right yonder where that fog bank is,” he
shouted.

“Yes, my son,” said Mother Reindeer. “That fog cloud is their frozen
breath.”

“Come on!” cried White Sox.

Away he dashed, with Mother Reindeer at his heels.

[Illustration: Man on hill with reindeer below]




_ANIMAL LIFE SERIES_

THE STORY _of_ MATKA

  _A Tale of the
  Mist Islands_

[Illustration: Seal on rocks near water]

  _By_ DAVID
  STARR JORDAN


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The book is illustrated from photographs and drawings by Chloe Leslie
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The appendix contains an article on the fur seals of the Pribilof
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[Illustration Three books]


ELIZABETH V. BROWN’S

NATURE AND INDUSTRY READERS


 These books draw upon the world’s best literature, and present
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_By_ J. HENRI FABRE

_Selected and Arranged for Young People by Louis Seymour Hasbrouck_

[Illustration: Insects flying]


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_CONSERVATION SERIES_

[Illustration: Horses in field]


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_By_ HAROLD W. FAIRBANKS, _Ph.D._

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