First he tried to find which way the breeze was blowing. Then he turned his nose in that direction and sniffed several times. But not a thing could he scent. He looked very carefully everywhere. But not a thing could he see.
“Come on!” he cried; and down the knoll he started at a swift trot. He was thinking how much he wished to be like White Feet, but all the same he kept a sharp lookout to the east and to the west while he kept his nose turned to the north.
There was plenty of fine moss being trampled under his feet, but he did not stop to taste it. Up, up he went, to the very top of the next low ridge. When he saw that all was safe, he began to feed on the splendid moss under the blanket of snow.
Presently he looked up and said, “White Feet died a natural death, didn’t he, mother?”
“Yes, so we are told,” Mother Reindeer answered. “But he reached a ripe old age before he died.”
White Sox ate awhile in silence; then he spoke again. “I think I understand it all now, mother. White Feet was allowed to live because his services to man were of more value than his flesh and skin. He was a great leader and a wise teacher. He taught his herd and their offspring obedience to man and thankfulness for protection. He changed the order of things entirely.
“In olden times the poor mothers were sacrificed to feed the wolves. Now the sons are sacrificed to feed man, their protector. The sons pay the debt which enables the mothers to live in peace and safety.”
“‘In olden times the poor mothers were sacrificed to feed the wolves.’”
“Yes, my son,” said the proud mother, “and you must know that the wild caribou have decreased in numbers year by year; but the reindeer, under the protection of man, have multiplied until now they form many mighty herds.”