All passengers, freight, and supplies for the interior now pass through White Horse. The river bank is lined with vast warehouses which, by the time the river opens in June, are piled to the roofs with freight. The shipments of heavy machinery are large. From the river one can see little besides these warehouses, the shipyards to the south, and the hills.
Passing through the depot one is confronted by the largest hotel, the White Pass, directly across the street. To this we walked; and from an upstairs window had a good view of the town. The streets are wide and level; the whole town site is as level as a parade-ground. The buildings are frame and log; merchandise is fair in quality and style, and in price, high. Mounted police strut stiffly and importantly up and down the streets to and from their picturesque log barracks. One unconsciously holds one's chin level and one's shoulders high the instant one enters a Yukon town. It is in the air.
Excellent grounds are provided for all outdoor sports; and in the evening every man one meets has a tennis racket or a golf stick in his hand, and on his face that look of enthusiastic anticipation which is seen only on a British sportsman's face. No American, however enthusiastic or "keen" he may be on outdoor sports, ever quite gets that look.
There was no key to our door. Furthermore, the door would not even close securely, but remained a few hair breadths ajar. There was no bell; but on our way down to dinner, having left some valuables in our room, we reported the matter to a porter whom we met in the hall, and asked him to lock our door.
"It doesn't lock," he replied politely. "It doesn't even latch, and the key is lost."
Observing our amazed faces, he added, smiling:—
"You don't need it, ladies. You will be as safe as you would be at home. We never lock doors in White Horse."
This was my first Yukon shock, but not my last. My faith in mounted police has always been strong, but it went down before that unlocked door.
"Possibly the people of White Horse never take what does not belong to them," I said; "but a hundred strangers came in on that train. Might not one be afflicted with kleptomania?"
"He wouldn't steal here," said the boy, confidently. "Nobody ever does."