days that followed and the race down the trail with all its
horrors; our kiss and embrace; and my final glimpse of the little
white tent in which he lay.

And so with the remembrance of his example as an inspiration the
work was finished by me, the survivor, but to Hubbard and to his
memory belong the credit and the honour, for it was only through my
training with him and this inspiration received from him that I was
able to carry to successful completion what he had so well planned.

My publishers inform me that five editions of our story have found
their way into the hearts and homes of those who cannot visit the
great northern wilds, but who love to hear about them. I shall
avail myself of this opportunity to thank these readers for the
kindly manner in which they have received the book. This reception
of it has been especially gratifying to me because of the lack of
confidence I had in my ability to tell the story of Hubbard's life
and glorious death as I felt it should be told.

The writing of the story was a work of love. I wished not only to
fulfil my last promise to my friend to write the narrative of his
expedition, but I wished also to create a sort of memorial to him.
I wanted the world to know Hubbard as he was, his noble character,
his devotion to duty, and his faith, so strong that not even the
severe hardships he endured in the desolate north, ending only with
death, could make him for a moment forget the simple truths that he
learned from his mother on the farm in old Michigan. I wanted the
young men to know these things, for they could not fail to be the
better for having learned them; and I wanted the mothers to know
what men mothers can make of their sons.