friends through boyhood and youth, and it was on his offer of
employment that I had come to the city by the Golden Gate.

"What a resemblance!" I heard a woman exclaim, as we entered the cabin.
"They must be twins."

"There, Henry," I whispered, with a laugh; "you see we are discovered."
Though our relationship was not close we had been cast in the mold of
some common ancestor. We were so nearly alike in form and feature as to
perplex all but our intimate acquaintances, and we had made the
resemblance the occasion of many tricks in our boyhood days.

Henry had heard the exclamation as well as I. To my surprise, it
appeared to bring him annoyance or apprehension rather than amusement.

"I had forgotten that it would make us conspicuous," he said, more to
himself than to me, I thought; and he glanced through the cabin as
though he looked for some peril.

"We were used to that long ago," I said, as we found a seat. "Is the
business ready for me? You wrote that you thought it would be in hand
by the time I got here."

"We can't talk about it here," he said in a low tone. "There is plenty
of work to be done. It's not hard, but, as I wrote you, it needs a man
of pluck and discretion. It's delicate business, you understand, and
dangerous if you can't keep your head. But the danger won't be yours.
I've got that end of it."

"Of course you're not trying to do anything against the law?" I said.