thar feller that keeps the Dutch grocery hev hed a row over it; emptied
their six-shooters into each other. The Dutchman's got two balls in
his leg, and the Frenchman's got an onnessary buttonhole in his
shirt-buzzum, and hez caved in."

This concise, local corroboration of the conflict of remote nations,
however confirmatory, did not appear to excite any further interest.
Even the last speaker, now that he was in this calm, dispassionate
atmosphere, seemed to lose his own concern in his tidings, and to have
abandoned every thing of a sensational and lower-worldly character in
the pines below. There were a few moments of absolute silence, and then
another stumble. But now the voices of both speakers were quite patient
and philosophical.

"Hold on, and I'll strike a light," said the second speaker. "I brought
a lantern along, but I didn't light up. I kem out afore sundown, and you
know how it allers is up yer. I didn't want it, and didn't keer to light
up. I forgot you're always a little dazed and strange-like when you
first come up."

There was a crackle, a flash, and presently a steady glow, which the
surrounding darkness seemed to resent. The faces of the two men thus
revealed were singularly alike. The same thin, narrow outline of jaw and
temple; the same dark, grave eyes; the same brown growth of curly beard
and mustache, which concealed the mouth, and hid what might have been
any individual idiosyncrasy of thought or expression,--showed them to
be brothers, or better known as the "Twins of Table Mountain." A certain
animation in the face of the second speaker,--the first-comer,--a
certain light in his eye, might have at first distinguished him; but
even this faded out in the steady glow of the lantern, and had no