“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?”