White Sox, the story of the reindeer in Alaska

by William Thomas Lopp

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.

“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.

“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.”