narrow, grass-covered flat between Gastineau Channel and Stevens
Passage can only be crossed with canoes at flood tide), we met two old
gold prospectors whom I had frequently seen at Wrangell--Joe Harris and
Joe Juneau. Exchanging greetings and news, they told us they were out
from Sitka on a leisurely hunting and prospecting trip. Asking us about
our last camping place, Harris said to Juneau, "Suppose we camp there
and try the gravel of that creek."

These men found placer gold and rock "float" at our camp and made quite
a clean-up that fall, returning to Sitka with a "gold-poke" sufficiently
plethoric to start a stampede to the new diggings. Both placer and
quartz locations were made and a brisk "camp" was built the next summer.
This town was first called Harrisburg for one of the prospectors, and
afterwards Juneau for the other. The great Treadwell gold quartz mine
was located three miles from Juneau in 1881, and others subsequently.
The territorial capital was later removed from Sitka to Juneau, and the
city has grown in size and importance, until it is one of the great
mining and commercial centers of the Northwest.

Through Stevens Passage we paddled, stopping to preach to the Auk
Indians; then down Chatham Strait and into Icy Strait, where the crystal
masses of Muir and Pacific glaciers flashed a greeting from afar. We
needed no Hoonah guide this time, and it was well we did not, for both
Hoonah villages were deserted. The inhabitants had gone to their
hunting, fishing or berry-picking grounds.

At Pleasant Island we loaded, as on the previous trip, with dry wood for
our voyage into Glacier Bay. We were not to attempt the head of the bay
this time, but to confine our exploration to Muir Glacier, which we had
only touched upon the previous fall. Pleasant Island was the scene of
one of Stickeen's many escapades. The little island fairly teemed with
big field mice and pine squirrels, and Stickeen went wild. We could hear
his shrill bark, now here, now there, from all parts of the island. When
we were ready to leave the next morning he was not to be seen. We got
aboard as usual, thinking that he would follow. A quarter of a mile's
paddling and still no little black head could be discovered in our wake.
Muir, who was becoming very much attached to the little dog, was plainly
worried.

"Row back," he said.

So we rowed back and called, but no Stickeen. Around the next point we
rowed and whistled; still no Stickee