Though I well knew that packeteers did not carry firearms, I asked
Chief Factor Thompson--just for the sake of getting the truth from him
and giving it to the public:

"How does the Hudson's Bay Company arm their packeteers?"

"Arm them?" the Chief Factor laughed outright, "why, we always provide
them with an axe."

"Firearms, I mean."

"Firearms! Why, they aren't allowed to carry firearms at all. It's
against the rules and regulations of the Company. In the first place,
packeteers are supplied with plenty of grub for the trip; in the next
place, if they had a gun they might go hunting and fooling around with
it instead of attending to their business; and, moreover, it doesn't
matter whether the mail travels two hundred or two thousand miles,
there is no occasion for packeteers to carry firearms, for there are no
highwaymen and no animals in this country that would make an offensive
attack upon them."

And in truth, in all that wild brigade there were no fire-arms save
Oo-koo-hoo's old muzzle-loader; but then The Owl was a hunter by
profession, and he carried a gun only as a matter of business. Now for
the last twenty-five years that is exactly what I have wanted to tell
the public. When one reads a story, or sees a play or a moving
picture, in which characters bristling with firearms are set forth as
veritable representatives of life in the Canadian wilderness, he may
rest assured that the work is nothing but a travesty on life in Canada.
Any author, any illustrator, any playwright, any scenario writer, any
actor or any director who depicts Canadian wilderness life in that way
is either an ignoramus or a shameless humbug. And to add strength to
my statement I shall quote the experience of a gentleman who was the
first City Clerk, Treasurer, Assessor, and Tax Collector of Dawson
City--Mr. E. Ward Smith:

POLICE AND GUNMEN

"The Mounted Police generally received word in advance when any
particularly bad character was headed for the Yukon, and in all such
cases he was met when he slipped off the boat. I remember particularly
one case of the kind, as I happened to be on hand when the American
gunman landed. He was a quiet enough looking individual and had no
weapons of any kind in sight, but a close scrutiny revealed the fact
that he had a particularly evil eye in his sandy-freckled face. One of
the Mounties picked him out unerringly and tapped him on the shoulder.

"'Gat Gardiner?' he asked.

"'No,