432 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 



after another, unless he is visited by that most terrible of disasters, 

 the reindeer plague. 



Before the short summer comes to the inhospitable land, before 

 even the first breath of spring is stirring, when a thick sheet of ice 

 lies still unbroken over the mighty river, its tributaries, and the 

 innumerable lakes of the tundra, the reindeer bring forth their 

 calves; it is therefore more than ever necessary to seek out a place 

 which offers sufficient pasture for both mothers and young. Our 

 herdsman migrates, therefore, not to the deepest valleys, but to the 

 heights from whose crests the raging storms of winter have blown 

 away much of the snow, and here, in the best available spot, he 

 erects his tshum. For days, even weeks, he remains there until all 

 the exposed reindeer moss has been eaten up, and the broad hoof of 

 the reindeer itself, which has been used to clear away the snov;-, 

 almost refuses duty. Then the herdsman breaks up his camp, and 

 wends his way to some not far distant spot, which offers the same 

 attractions as the first. Here, too, he remains until pasturage 

 becomes too scarce, for this is still what he looks on as the good 

 season. The herds feed in dense troops; among the stags, whose 

 antlers have just begun to sprout, the deepest peace reigns; the 

 calves are never lost sight of by their anxious parents ; the herd 

 neither scatters nor wanders out of hearing of the loud call which 

 summons them to the tshum at sundown. At night, indeed, the 

 greedy wolf, which has been driven by winter from the mountains, 

 prowls around them, but the brave dogs keep sharp watch, and 

 resist the cowardly robber ; and our herdsman therefore is as little 

 troubled about the wolves as he is about winter, which he, like all 

 the peoples of the far north, looks on as the best season of the year. 

 The days — still very short — are gradually lengthening, the nights 

 becoming shorter, and the dangers threatening his defenceless 

 herds are gradually diminishing. The river throws off its winter 

 covering; and with the floods warmed in the steppes of the south, 

 soft winds blow through the land; one hill-top after another is laid 

 bare of snow, and here, as well as in the valleys, where the buds 

 are sprouting luxuriantly, the weather-hardened animals find food 

 in abundance. The low tundra has become a paradise in the eyes 



