And now the foremost of the pack reached the open tundra. Then, like a swollen stream which has suddenly broken through its barriers, they spread out, racing still, over the silent glistening expanse of white prairie-like tundra. “A few of the weaker ones have perished. The great mass of this wild life is saved,” was Curlie’s mental comment.
A mile from the flames Curlie dropped stiffly from his place on the reindeer’s back and, patting his head in grateful appreciation, tied him with a loose rope to a willow bush.
“There,” he murmured, “feed up a bit.”
The reindeer began digging in the snow for moss, while Curlie climbed a near-by knoll to have a look at the strange spectacle.
As each wild creature pursued his own course, Curlie looked on with interest. The wolves were the first to slink away. The bear, a huge barren-ground grizzly, climbed a distant hill, there to suck his sore paws and nurse his grievances.
The caribou began passing to right and left like some army ordered to deploy and, in an astonishingly brief space of time, had all disappeared.
Only the reindeer, five hundred to a thousand in number, remained to feed peacefully upon the moss of the tundra.
“Well,” Curlie said to himself, “it seems I’ve come into possession of a reindeer herd! Don’t see’s they have any masters. No men in sight.”
Just then a dog barked. It was answered by a second one.
“Dogs!” he exclaimed. “Two of them. That’s interesting. Wonder what kind.”