The Christmas Reindeer Page 4

  “It is so, Little Tuktu,” said he on his return. “The herd has started for the winter grazing grounds. It is time that we also should move. Aklak shall go back to carry word to the herders, while you and I will follow the deer. They will move slowly, so there is no hurry. But it is well that we should catch up with them soon, lest the wolves attack, finding them unguarded.”

  So Aklak started back to the summer camp to send up the herders and to help break the camp and move toward the winter home. Tuktu and her father, with a small skin iglu or tent wherein to sleep, and food enough for their immediate needs, started at once to catch up with the great herd. Through years of experience, Kutok knew in what direction the deer would travel and the shortest way to reach them.

  They traveled too fast for much talking. Tuktu longed to tell her father what she had seen in the Valley of the Good Spirit, but somehow she couldn’t. “He will laugh at me,” she thought. “He will not believe, and he will laugh at me; and I do not want to be laughed at.” So she said nothing. But all the time there was a song in her heart.

  It was not until Aklak had rejoined them that she told of her adventure in the Valley of the Good Spirit. At first Aklak laughed, as she had known he would. “It was a dream, Tuktu,” he cried. “It was a dream. You must have slept through that fog while Father and I were hunting, and the dream spirits took you with them. No one ever has seen the Good Spirit, and no one ever will.”

  But Tuktu stubbornly insisted that it was not a dream, until at last even Aklak began to believe that it might be so. You would have laughed to hear him ply her with questions, all the time pretending that he didn’t believe a word of it. But Tuktu caught him looking at her with a respect in his black eyes which was new in her experience. And she noticed, too, that he no longer teased her, and that now he was never selfish. The biggest share of anything was always hers. Never had he been so gentle and thoughtful. Yet never once could she get him to say that he believed her story of the Valley of the Good Spirit.

  Now there was one thing that Tuktu did not tell Aklak. It was that the last deer chosen was from their father’s own herd. Never had Kutok had a deer chosen by the Good Spirit from his herd until now. Tuktu had known that it was her father’s deer, because she had been near enough to see the earmark. Besides, there was no other deer in the herd to compare with it. Sometimes when Aklak insisted that it was all a dream, she would be almost persuaded that he was right. Then she would remember that it was her father’s finest deer Speedfoot, which had been chosen.

  “If,” she would say to herself, “we cannot find Speedfoot in the round up, I shall know for a certainty that I did not dream. It will be the proof.”

  Thereafter she spent many hours wandering in and out through the great herd looking for this particular deer and rejoicing that she could not find it.

  CHAPTER XII

  THE DEER PEOPLE

  WINTER had come. The deer were on their winter feeding grounds. Could you have been there, you would, until you had watched them awhile, have wondered where they could find anything to eat. As far as could be seen, and far, far beyond that, there was nothing but snow.

  But the deer people minded this not at all. They knew that the snow was but a blanket to protect and keep in splendid condition the food they loved best, the reindeer moss as it is called, which carpeted the ground, the lichens which nature had provided specially for the reindeer and caribou.

  Tuktu liked to go out and watch them paw down through the snow. “See, Aklak,” she cried, “they know just where they will find the best food. Do you suppose they never make mistakes?”

  “The deer are wise with a wisdom not given us,” replied Aklak. “Perhaps they make mistakes sometimes, but it is not often. I heard such a queer thing the other day. It makes me laugh every time I think of it.”

  “Tell me, for I want to laugh too,” cried Tuktu. “What was it, Aklak?”

  Aklak chuckled. “You remember the visitors that came in great ships last summer,” said he. Tuktu nodded. “Well, one of them who never had seen reindeer before, asked if the deer used their horns to shovel away the snow in winter. He said that he had been told this, and that many people believed it to be so. It is a lucky thing it isn’t so, or those big, old bucks would go hungry now that they have dropped their horns. But just look at the way they are pawing up that moss over there. I guess it is a good thing they haven’t their horns, or they would be so greedy and selfish that they would get all the best of the food. See, Tuktu! See that young spike-horn over there driving away the old buck from that moss he has uncovered!”

  Sure enough, a youngster with only two sharp spikes for horns was butting a big old buck who had just pawed away the snow from a bed of reindeer moss. Those spikes were sharp and they made the old buck grunt. Having no horns himself, he could not fight back except by striking with his forefeet, and these the youngster took care to avoid. So finally the old fellow gave up and went to look for a new supply of food while the youngster ate undisturbed.

  “I have wondered a great many times,” said Tuktu, “why it is that the old bucks drop their wonderful antlers so long before the mother deer and the young spikehorns do. But I guess I know now. It is because they are the strongest, and so they are made to look after the weaker ones, whether they want to or not.”

  Aklak nodded. “That’s it I guess,” said he. “By and by those little spikes will drop. Then the only ones to have horns will be the mothers. Theirs will not drop until after the fawns are born. Do you know why the reindeer always face the wind when they are feeding?”

  “So that the wind may bring them the scent of any enemies that may be ahead of them,” replied Tuktu promptly.

  Aklak nodded. “That is one reason, but it isn’t the only reason,” said he. The wind keeps their eyes clear of drifting snow. So they always face the wind, no matter how bitter it may be. They are a wise people, the deer people. They know how to take care of themselves. They cannot see as well as some other animals, but they can smell and hear better than most. Their wild cousins, the caribou, are the same way. When we are hunting them we have to take the greatest care that they neither hear nor smell us.”

  The children were standing on the outer edge of the herd. As always, Tuktu was watching for a glimpse of Speedfoot, the splendid deer she felt sure the Good Spirit had chosen. Now, for the first time she mentioned it to Aklak. He knew the deer she meant. He had hoped that some day he might have it for his own. So now when Tuktu told him that she was sure it had been chosen by the Good Spirit, and that she had been unable to find it anywhere in the herd, he straightway began keeping watch himself.

  Together they passed back and forth through the grazing herd. They are a gentle people, these reindeer folk. The children could quite safely go about among them as freely as they pleased. There was nothing to fear.

  Long they searched, but in the end Aklak had to admit that Speedfoot was missing. “It may be that Amarok, the wolf, has gotten him,” said he. “Or it may be that he has strayed into one of the other herds. We cannot know until the deer are driven into the corrals and counted.”

  Tuktu merely smiled. “I know,” said she. “Amarok has never set tooth in him, and he has not strayed to another herd. He is one of the chosen of the Good Spirit. You shall see, Aklak, that I am right when the count comes.”

  “But not even the count will tell us if Amarok has killed him,” said he.

  There was a faraway look in Tuktu’s eyes and a half-smile hovering around her lips. “You will find him next summer when we move over near the Valley of the Good Spirit,” said she. “Then will you know that I speak truly. He is of the chosen eight, the blessed deer of the Good Spirit.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE WILFUL YOUNG DEER

  OF ALL the young deer in the great herd,—and there were many,—Little Spot was the most wilful. He was called Little Spot because he was marked exactly like his mother, who was known as Big Spot. Each had a white spot between the eyes. Now, Big Spot
was one of the wisest leaders among all the reindeer people. She was wise in the ways of the wolf and the bear, and she was wise in the ways of men. Under her leadership the herd thrived and increased and was seldom troubled.

  But with all her wisdom, Big Spot was a poor mother. You see, she was just like a great many other mothers—she spoiled her children. So Little Spot, who was so like his mother, had never been taught to mind. Almost from the day of his birth, which had been in the spring before the snow had melted, he had been headstrong and wilful. He had been a handsome baby, as reindeer babies go, and his mother had been very proud of him. Perhaps that is why she spoiled him. Anyway, he went where he pleased and did what he pleased and was forever in trouble of some sort. When he got his first horns, two sharp spikes, he made such a nuisance of himself that he soon became known as the worst young deer in the whole herd. Other young deer would have nothing to do with him, because he was so overbearing. He was a little bigger and a little stronger than any others of his own age, and this, together with the fact that he had been allowed to have his own way, had quite spoiled him.

  “My son,” said his mother, when she found him with a small band of caribou which he had run away to join, “follow me to the top of yonder hill. I want to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to be talked to,” said Little Spot, with an angry toss of his head. “I know what you want. You want me to go back with the herd. I’m not going. I’m going to stay with my wild cousins, the caribou. I don’t want to go back to the herd. I won’t go back to the herd.” He stamped his feet in the naughtiest way.

  “Very well,” said his mother. “You may stay with your cousins, the caribou. But remember that if you need me, you will find me on the top of that hill over there.”

  Little Spot tossed his head. He sniffed. You see, he didn’t like it at all that his mother should think that he had any need of her. Had he not horns already? He felt quite equal to taking care of himself. So he tossed his head and sniffed, then went over to join some of the young caribou about his own age.

  His mother said nothing more, but slowly walked away in the direction of the hill. When she reached the top, she stood motionless for a long time. Looking up, Little Spot could see her against the sky and, he, being a foolish young deer, became very angry. He felt that she was keeping watch over him. So he pretended not to see her, and, when presently the small band of caribou started to move away briskly, he trotted along with them. They were glad to have him; at least they made no objections. The farther he got from that hill where his mother still stood, the bigger and more important he felt. He was out in the Great World now. He was master of his own movements. There was no one to make him do this or do that. He held his head high and he stepped high. You see, he was trying to look as important as he felt.

  Without warning, four great gray wolves swept out from behind some willow trees to cut off the young caribou from the remainder of the band. Such terror as there was then! Each young caribou started in a different direction. It was well for Little Spot that he was swifter of foot than any of the others. At the first glimpse of the dreaded wolves, he had whirled about and started back for that hill where his mother was. They were the first wolves he had ever seen, but he knew what they were. Not once did he look behind to see what was happening to the young caribou. Forgotten was all his pride. He wanted his mother, and he wanted her as he had never wanted her before. Was she not the wisest of all the mothers of the big herd? She would know what to do. She would know how to care for him.

  He looked over to the top of that little hill. For a moment it seemed as if his heart stopped beating. He could not see Big Spot anywhere. Had she left him after all? Had she started off on that long swift trot of hers to get back to the herd? The mere thought that he might never see her again gave added speed to Little Spot. Never had he run as he was running now. But it was not good running. It was unwise running, for it was taking his wind and his strength. He was panting hard when he came over the top of the hill. There, in a little hollow just beyond, stood his mother.

  “What is it, my son?” said she, as little Spot crowded against her, panting as if he could never get his breath again. “What is it, my son? I thought you wanted to go out into the Great World.”

  “Wolves!” panted Little Spot, “Wolves! We must run!”

  His mother merely walked up to the brow of the hill and looked back. “Truly, my son, they are wolves,” said she, and returned to him as if wolves were the most commonplace things in the world.

  “They are wolves”

  CHAPTER XIV

  WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG

  LITTLE Spot, the wilful young reindeer, trembled as he crowded up to his mother. He couldn’t get close enough to her. He no longer wanted to be out in the Great World by himself. He wondered that his mother did not run. Every moment or two he looked back to see if those wolves were coming up over the hill. But Big Spot seemed in no hurry at all. You see, she was wise with the wisdom of experience. She didn’t want Little Spot to get over his fright so soon that he would forget the lesson he had learned. Then, too, she wanted him to get rested a little and get his wind back.

  At last, she quieted Little Spot’s fears. “Those wolves did not chase you, my son,” said she. “They chased the young caribou, and it is very fortunate for you that they did.”

  “I’m sure I could run faster than those wolves,” said Little Spot boastfully.

  “Yes, you could,” replied his mother. “You could run faster than they could for a while, but you do not know the patience of wolves, my dear. You would have run so hard and so fast that presently you would have tired yourself out so that the wolves would have had no trouble in catching you. Ever since you were a little fawn I have told you about the wolves, and that they are our worst enemies; but I don’t think you ever have believed it. Now you have seen them and you know what they are like. The wolves are very smart people. They watch for a deer to stray away. Then they get between the herd and that deer. When this happens, that deer will not live long.”

  “Have the deer always been afraid of the wolves?” asked Little Spot.

  “Ever since the days when the world was young,” replied his mother.

  “Tell me about the days when the world was young,” begged Little Spot.

  For a few moments his mother said nothing. Gradually, into her big, dark eyes there crept a far-away look. “Once upon a time,” she began at last, “the world was mostly water, like the salt water that you saw in the summer,”

  “But where did the deer live then?” interrupted Little Spot.

  “There were no deer then,” said his mother. “There were no deer and there were no wolves and there were none of those two-legged creatures called men. You see, Old Mother Nature had not made them yet, for there was no land for them to live on. But by and by there was land and then for a very long time Old Mother Nature was very, very busy making the different kinds of people to live on the land. Some of these people she made to live where it was summer all the year round.”

  You should have seen Little Spot’s big ears prick up at that. “Is there such a place?” he cried.

  His mother nodded. “Yes,” said she, “I am told there is a land where it is summer all the time. How do you think you would like that?”

  Little Spot thought it over for a moment. “I shouldn’t like it,” he decided. “Why, if it is summer all the time, there can be no snow! What a queer land it must be without the beautiful snow. I shouldn’t like it”

  His mother again nodded her head approvingly. “Neither should I, my son,” said she. “But it seems that in those days when the world was young, all the people, big and little, wanted to live where it was summer. So after awhile it became difficult for all the people to get food enough. It was then that the hard times began, and some of the big people began to hunt the little people for food.

  “Now, it happened that Mr. and Mrs. Caribou, the first of all the caribou, had wandered beyond the land where it was summe
r all the time. They had come to the land where it was summer for half the year and winter for the other half. When the winter came, they moved back, because you see they were not fitted to make their living when snow covered the ground, and they were not clothed warmly enough to stand the bitter winds. But they always stayed as long as they could before moving south, for they loved the Northland. Then, too, they felt safer there, for there were fewer to hunt them.

  “It was on the edge of the Northland that Old Mother Nature found Mr. and Mrs. Caribou looking longingly at the land they must leave because of the coming of the snow and ice. ‘How would you like to live in the Northland all of the time?’ asked Old Mother Nature.

  “Mr. Caribou looked at Mrs. Caribou, and Mrs. Caribou looked at Mr. Caribou, and then both looked at Old Mother Nature. Mr. Caribou spoke rather hesitatingly. ‘We could not eat when all the ground is covered with snow,’ said he.

  “ ‘There is always plenty of food beneath the snow,’ replied Old Mother Nature. ‘You could dig away the snow with your feet and find plenty.’

  “ ‘But we should freeze,’ protested Mrs. Caribou, and shivered; for in those days the coats of the caribou were thin.”

  “ ‘But supposing I gave you warm coats and fitted you to live in the Northland; would you do it?’ Old Mother Nature asked.

  “Again Mr. Caribou looked at Mrs. Caribou and Mrs. Caribou looked at Mr. Caribou, then both nodded.

  “So Mother Nature gave them warm coats. She gave them each a thick mantle of long hair on the neck, so that it hung down and the wind could not get through it. She fashioned their feet so that they were different from the feet of any other of the deer family, and they could walk in snow and on soft ground, where others could not go. Then she sent them into the Northland, and there the caribou have been ever since.”