poundmaster's van and its attendants,—a van with open sides, through which may be seen the heads of luckless, unlicensed dogs and goats, and occasionally a pet pig or lamb, drawn by two horses driven leisurely along by a fat and happy-looking assistant dog-pelter, by whose side sits a Mexican or native Californian half-Indian vaquero, with his long, rawhide rieta coiled ready for instant use in his hand. Beside the van rides another vaquero on horseback ready for the chase; and behind rides, on horseback, a policeman with star and baton exposed, ready to arrest anybody guilty of interfering with the operations of the dog ordinance of the city and county of San Francisco, and the statutes of the State "in such cases made and provided."
As the van jolts along over the rough cobble pavement the imprisoned canines give vent to mournful howls, on hearing which every unlicensed but "posted" dog on the street takes to his heels and flees from the neighborhood as from a pestilence, while the licensed cur, with the tax-collector's tag upon his collar, comes boldly up to the vehicle in perfect consciousness of security, and howls defiance at the persecutors of his race.
A Frenchwoman of no uncertain social status is passing along the street at the moment, with a King Charles spaniel snugly ensconced in her arms and a sprightly black-and-tan running along by her side. There is no tag on the neck of either dog, a fact which the poundmaster's assistants comprehend at a glance, and the vaquero on the driver's seat jumps down on the instant and darts toward them. The
