many a story I could tell of their wisdom and devotion; but to none do I
owe so much as to Stickeen. At first the least promising and least known
of my dog-friends, he suddenly became the best known of them all. Our
storm-battle for life brought him to light, and through him as through a
window I have ever since been looking with deeper sympathy into all my
fellow mortals.

None of Stickeen's friends knows what finally became of him. After my
work for the season was done I departed for California, and I never saw
the dear little fellow again. In reply to anxious inquiries his master
wrote me that in the summer of 1883 he was stolen by a tourist at Fort
Wrangel and taken away on a steamer. His fate is wrapped in mystery.
Doubtless he has left this world--crossed the last crevasse--and gone
to another. But he will not be forgotten. To me Stickeen is
immortal.