It was lined on either side its narrow roadway by small shacks, in which
were offered fowls, fish, vegetables, candy, refreshments. Some of them
were tiny saloons or gambling houses. But by far the majority were the
cubicles where the Jewish slop sellers displayed their wares. Men returning
from the mines here landed, and here replenished their wardrobes.
Everything was exposed to view outside, like clothes hung out after a rain.

The narrow way between this long row of shops was crowded almost
dangerously. Magnificent dray horses, with long hair on the fetlocks above
their big heavy hoofs, bridling in conscious pride of silver-mounted
harness and curled or braided manes, rose above the ruck as their
ancestors, the warhorses, must have risen in medieval battle. The crowd
parted before them and closed in behind them. Here and there, too, a
horseman could be seen--with a little cleared space at his heels. Or a
private calash picking its way circumspectly.

From her point of vantage on the elevated seat Mrs. Sherwood could see over
the heads of people. She sat very quietly, her body upright, but in the
poised repose characteristic of her. Many admiring glances were directed at
her. She seemed to be unconscious of them. Nevertheless, nothing escaped
her. She saw, and appreciated and enjoyed, every phase of that
heterogeneous crowd--miners in their exaggeratedly rough clothes, brocaded
or cotton clad Chinese, gorgeous Spaniards or Chilenos, drunken men, sober
men, excited men, empty cans or cases kicking around underfoot, frantic
runners for hotels or steamboats trying to push their way by, newsboys and
cigar boys darting about and miraculously worming their way through
impenetrable places. Atop a portable pair of steps a pale, well-dressed
young man was playing thimble-rig on his knees with a gilt pea. From an
upturned keg a preacher was exhorting. And occasionally, through gaps
between the shacks, she caught glimpses of blue water; or of ships at