White Sox, the story of the reindeer in Alaska

by William Thomas Lopp

“At last we came to another shore. The floating corral moved close up to the land and we were taken off. The place was strange. The people were strange. We were still very much afraid, but it was better to be on shore than on the floating corral. After a few days the floating corral came again and landed more reindeer. We were very glad to see our old friends, and we grew more contented.

“But in this new land we had strange men for herders, to help our own herders who came with us on the floating corral. They were too old to learn how to take care of us. After a while we had more new herders, men who wore shoes that curved up at the toes, like boat sleds. They wore high caps stuffed with feathers and spoke a strange language. They threw the lasso straight, without warning, instead of curling it three times around overhead before shooting it out. But at last we had some young men for herders, and they did much better by us. Young people are like fawns; they learn quickly. It was then that we began to love the new land and our new herders.”

“‘We were taken on board a big floating corral and brought across the waters.’”

“You’ve seen a great deal, mother, but how did you get up here, thirty days’ journey from the place where you first lived in this new land?” White Sox asked.

“That’s another story, my son,” Mother Reindeer said. “I will tell you about it after all your other lessons are learned. This much I will tell you now. One day some strange men came to our new land and talked with our herders. In a little while two reindeer herds on this side of the big waters were put together and driven north. The little bit of winter daylight had just begun to grow longer as we started. We didn’t know where we were going, but we thought it must be on a long trip, because some sleds were loaded with food for the herders who were driving us.

“Our journey was on both land and sea. The sea was frozen over. We were on it two days and nights. Our sleds could not haul enough moss to feed the entire herd. The weak reindeer dropped on the ice and were left behind. Some ate too much of the salty frost that covered the ice. It made them thirsty. They became faint and were left behind. After we left the ice, our way lay across a mountainous country. When we had crossed that, wolves scented us and followed us many nights. It was a hard journey, much too hard and long for mothers at that time of the season.

“But at the end of the second moon we reached the place near the sea beach, where we now live. There we found many floating corrals among the ice and many strange men in houses. Then came the most terrible part of it all. Half the herd was butchered and hauled into the village where the men were.”

“Mother!” exclaimed White Sox, in horror. “Did they kill all the males at once?”

“There were but few males in the herd,” she answered. “Many of those killed were mothers and sisters. We didn’t understand it. But your grandmother—her name was Spot—talked with a wild caribou that came near the herd. He told her that hunters had killed a great many wild caribou that winter and taken their bodies to the village. Together they reasoned it out that the men had no other kind of food, and that we had been brought there to keep that great herd of men from starving. Spot was a sled deer—”