t the
limitless distance while a man may count a hundred. He grows restless from
that moment, but he is yet alone. The next day, a dozen of the herd look
up, from the cropping of the moss, snuffing the breeze. Then the Laps nod
to one another, and the camp grows daily more unquiet. At times, the whole
herd of young deer stand at gaze, as it were, breathing hard through wide
nostrils, then jostling each other and stamping the soft ground. They grow
unruly and it is hard to harness them in the light sledge. As the days
pass, the Laps watch them more and more closely, well knowing what will
happen sooner or later. And then at last, in the northern twilight, the
great herd begins to move. The impulse is simultaneous, irresistible,
their heads are all turned in one direction. They move slowly at first,
biting still, here and there, at the bunches of rich moss. Presently the
slow step becomes a trot, they crowd closely together while the Laps
hasten to gather up their last unpacked possessions, their cooking
utensils and their wooden gods. The great herd break together from a trot
to a gallop, from a gallop to a break-neck race, the distant thunder of
their united tread reaches the camp during a few minutes, and they are
gone to drink of the polar sea. The Laps follow after them, dragging
painfully their laden sledges in the broad track left by the thousands of
galloping beasts--a day's journey, and they are yet far from the sea, and
the trail is yet broad. On the second day it grows narrower, and there are
stains of blood to be seen; far on the distant plain before them their
sharp eyes distinguish in the direct line a dark, motionless object,
another and then another. The race has grown more desperate and more wild
as the stampede neared the sea. The weaker reindeer have been thrown down,
and trampled to death by their stronger fellows. A thousand sharp hoofs
have crushed and cut through hide and flesh and bone. Ever swifter and
more terrible in their motion, the ruthless herd has raced onward,
careless of the slain, careless of food, careless of any drink but the
sharp salt water ahead of them. And when at last the Laplanders reach the
shore their deer are once more quietly grazing, once more tame and docile,
once more ready to drag the sledge whithersoever they are guided. Once in
his life the reindeer must taste of the sea in one long, satisfying
draught, and if he is hindered he perishes. Neither man nor beast dare
stand