“Now, as I told you before, this great herd of wild caribou felt a little too safe. One fine summer day, when they were grazing near the shore, a large band of hungry wolves scented them. These crafty enemies came nearer and nearer without the herd’s knowing anything about them. At last, when they thought they were close enough, out they rushed. The terrified herd of caribou stampeded pell-mell into the icy water of the Arctic Ocean.”
“Oh!” gasped White Sox. “Did the wolves get many of them?”
“Wait and listen,” said Mother Reindeer.
“White Feet and six other young fawns who always followed him had gone up on a hill to the right of the great herd. They were not caught in the stampede, but they were cut off from the herd. A large band of fierce wolves was between them and the caribou. All the fawns except young White Feet were very much frightened. They began to ‘mill,’ or run around in a circle. White Feet remembered what his mother had told him about wolves. He was only half your age, but he took command of the little band of fawns and led them down the other side of the hill, across a narrow valley, and then up the side of a high ridge. He planned to get over the summit and out of sight before any of the wolves began to look for stragglers.
“When they reached the top of the ridge, they could see the herd swimming about in the water. The many antlers looked like a great mass of brushwood afloat. And they could see the wolves pacing up and down along the shore, either too cowardly or too wise to follow the caribou into the water.
“The fawns stood on the high ridge, their mouths wide open. Great drops of perspiration fell from their lolling tongues. Young White Feet was wondering how long the wolves would keep the caribou in the icy water, and how he could lead his little band back to their mothers. He looked all about him, this way and that, and what do you think he saw?
“Three big gray wolves were creeping up the side of the ridge, coming straight toward him and the fawns.”
“Oh!” cried White Sox, greatly excited. “What did he do, mother?”
“He told the fawns to follow him and to do just as he did,” said Mother Reindeer. “He had seen a small bay farther along the beach. It was made by a long, narrow spit of land that curved like the main branch of my antlers. ‘Come on!’ he cried. ‘It’s a race for life to that little bay down yonder.’
“Then away he went, with the other six fawns at his heels. Down, down, down toward the bay they raced. When they were about halfway there, White Feet saw smoke ahead. It was coming from a skin tent that lay between them and the bay.”