“‘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.”
“‘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.