Holding fast to the line, Tuktu seated herself in the grass and slowly drew the reluctant Whitefoot toward her. All the time she talked to him, chiding him for wandering away; telling him how necessary he was; calling him names of endearment in one breath and scolding him in the next. Whitefoot stamped once or twice impatiently. Then, as if having made up his mind that he might as well make the best of the matter, he fell to grazing.
For a long time Tuktu sat there, for as I have said, she was tired. At last she arose. “Whitefoot,” she said severely, “you have made me run a long way. Now you will have to carry me back.”
As you know, Whitefoot was a pack animal. He had been trained to carry loads on his back. Tuktu had ridden him many times. So it was nothing new for him to feel his little mistress on his back. She turned his head toward camp and then she saw the white, thick mist of the Arctic fog rolling in from the coast. Already it had almost reached them.
CHAPTER V
LOST IN THE FOG
IN from the distant sea rolled the Arctic fog. It was as if one of those great, white fleecy clouds you have seen sailing high in the sky had come to earth and was being pushed forward to bury everything in its fleecy depths. Tuktu urged Whitefoot forward in the swinging trot the reindeer know. Would he be able to get her to camp before that swiftly moving fogbank would cut off all sight in any direction? She knew all about the fogs of the Far Northland. Had she been at home, she would not have minded it. But to be caught far from the camp was another matter.
“But I can trust Whitefoot,” thought Tuktu. “The deer folk can find their way even though they cannot see. So long as I am safe on the back of Whitefoot, I need not worry. Whitefoot is headed in the right direction and he will take me safely back.”
The soft mist swirled about them and Tuktu could see nothing. She could see nothing and she could hear nothing but the clicking of Whitefoot’s feet. There was no other sound. It was as if she and Whitefoot were alone in a white, wet world of silence. Click, click, click, click sounded Whitefoot’s feet—a click with every step. It was comforting to hear that much, for each click meant a forward step, and each forward step meant so much nearer to the camp. At least, that is what Tuktu encouraged herself by thinking.
“I wonder where Father and Aklak are,” she thought. “This fog must have caught them first, for they were hunting in the direction of the seacoast. They must have seen it coming and probably made camp. They will stay there until the fog lifts. If only I were back at the camp, I would not mind a bit. Trot, Whitefoot! Trot! Remember that Tuktu is on your back and she wants to get home.”
Whitefoot did trot. He trotted steadily, despite the fact that he could see nothing. His head was carried forward and his nose out and his nostrils were extended. With every breath he was testing the damp air. By the motion, Tuktu could tell when he was going up a hill and when he started down again. She was enjoying the ride.
But there came a time when Tuktu began to wonder. “We should be there by this time,” she thought. “Yes, indeed, we should be there by this time. Whitefoot has been traveling so fast that I am sure we should have been home long ago. If he did not trot along so steadily, I should think he were lost and wandering about But he seems to know just where he is going. Oh dear, I wish I could see just a little way. Whitefoot, what is that?”