“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.”
“‘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.