White Sox, the story of the reindeer in Alaska

by William Thomas Lopp

“No, not to speak to,” Mother Reindeer said, “but they soon became used to the ways of their human friends and were quite content. Before the November moon was gone, all the seal oil, dried fish, and meat had been hauled from the spit to the winter camp. The hunter had more than enough food stored up for his family; so he gave his attention to studying the ways and habits of caribou and taking care of his first little herd of reindeer.

“On clear days, and on nights when the moon was shining, he had the children take turns at watching the herd while it grazed. He took the sharp claws of the big Oogarook seals and fastened them to the ends of pieces of alder, about as big as your hoof. These made fine rakes or moss scratchers. The children used these scratchers for digging moss, which they put inside the corral for the fawns to eat on stormy days and dark nights. The first herder was a thoughtful man; he didn’t want his herd to grow thin and poor.”

“He was more thoughtful than some of our herders that Uncle Slim tells about,” said White Sox.

Mother Reindeer nodded her head. “The first herder and his family had become so fond of their reindeer that they all seemed like one family,” she said. “The human beings couldn’t understand the caribou language, but White Feet and his band soon came to understand many native words. Dainten’s brother was named Tah-ne-na. His sister’s name was Tah-nes-ka.”

White Sox had listened carefully to every word his mother had said. To him it was a very wonderful story. The more he thought about it, the more he wished to be like White Feet in mind as well as in body. After pondering for a while in silence, he said:

“I can see all the pictures now, mother—the careless caribou herd, the sneaking wolves, and the little band of fawns on the hill. Always the weakest of the herd were sacrificed in order that the stronger ones might escape and live a little while longer. Always danger, unrest, and fear! I see the other pictures—one brave caribou fawn thinking and planning for the safety of those who depended on him, and boldly doing things no other caribou had ever dared to do. I see that first corral on the narrow spit, the first little sled and harness, the first little caribou serving man for the love of him. Each needed something the other had to give. The fawns needed protection. The human beings needed beasts of burden that would be a source of food, instead of those for whom food had to be provided.”

“‘Our herders watch us at night only during the season when the ground is bare and we are inclined to scatter.’”

White Sox had learned his lesson. Mother Reindeer felt proud of him.

“But listen, son,” she said. “I have not yet finished my story. The first little herd of reindeer increased in numbers as the years went by, doubling their number every third spring. The two boys grew to manhood and married, and had families of their own. The old hunter and his wife died. There came a time when the herd was too large for the corrals. Dainten and Tah-ne-na had to take on new herders to help with the work. They now herded their reindeer in the open, day and night.”