“Well, now,” he said, addressing the deer, “I’ve got you. Question is, what am I going to do with you. You’re evidently a bad actor; must have run away from your master. And I never drove a reindeer in my life.”
He paused in thought. The reindeer would be of service to him if he could but learn to drive him. He needed no food save that which the tundra supplied, the reindeer moss under the snow. To ride on the broad-bottomed sled in his search for his companions would be far preferable to walking; besides, it meant more speed.
“Huh!” he grunted, “try anything once. So, you old lost ship on the Arctic desert, let’s turn you over and see what you’ve got on you.”
Grasping the sled he disentangled it enough to allow him to turn it over. The sled carried a light load, all of which was covered with a piece of canvas securely bound on by a rawhide rope. That the reindeer had traveled some distance was testified to by the fact that many holes had been torn in the canvas as the sled traveled upside-down.
“Let’s see what treasure is hidden here,” he said.
His fingers trembled from curiosity as he untied the rope.
To his joy he found a very good sleeping-bag of deerskin, a pair of deerskin mittens, three large frozen fish and a camp-kit consisting of knives, spoons, cups, a tinplate, matches, reindeer sinew for thread and various other odds and ends beneath the canvas.
“For all these,” Curlie said, “old reindeer, I thank you. They’ll come in handy when we take the trail.”
He proceeded to replace all the articles and to rebind the sled.
Hardly had this been accomplished than the reindeer, who had stood all this time with head down like a tired workhorse, suddenly sprang into action. With a wild snort he cleared with one leap a low willow bush and dragging the sled after him, sprang away at a terrific speed.