There was silence for a moment, the thief making no attempt to escape.

‘I am going to light the candle,’ said a voice.

‘Light it, then; but no tricks!  I’ll shoot to kill!’

XV

A match was struck, and in its glow Done recognised his visitor.  It was Ryder.  The latter lit the candle, and then turned towards Jim.  He was quite composed, apparently.  Not so Done; the revelation amazed him.  The hand containing the revolver sank to his side.  He stood for some moments awaiting an explanation.  None was offered.

‘Is Mr. Walter Ryder a tent thief?’ he asked bitterly.

Ryder shook his head.  ‘No,’ he said.

‘It looks strangely like it.’

‘It does.’

‘And I purpose raising the camp, and submitting the matter to the men.’

‘You won’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

’Because I can satisfy you that I have a very excellent excuse for being here and for prying into your affairs.’

‘I’ll wait two minutes for that.’

‘It won’t take one, Jim.  I am your brother, Richard Done!’

The revolver dropped from Jim’s hand.  He did not speak; every particle of him thrilled with intense emotion.  For half a minute he stood rooted, speechless, and then he strode forward and seated himself on the bunk, staring closely into Ryder’s face by the dim light of the candle.

‘You will want proof?’ said Ryder.

Jim shook his head.  Ryder’s declaration, abrupt and dramatic as it was, had struck him with absolute conviction.  He was amazed, but he did not doubt.  He understood now the origin of the deep impression this man had made upon him.

‘That is proof enough,’ he said, laying a trembling hand upon the miniature of his mother upon the table.

‘Almost,’ answered Ryder, ’but not enough.  We are both very like poor mother.’

‘We are very like each other.’  Jim’s faculties were stunned for the time; there was a dreamlike unreality in their positions.

Ryder nodded.  ‘We are.’

’It must have been that and your resemblance to my mother impressed me.  I was impressed without consciousness of the reason.’

’Miss Woodrow noticed the resemblance, and when I heard your name and your age I thought it very likely that you were my brother.  When I saw you that night in the shanty I was almost convinced.  These satisfied me.’  He indicated the scattered articles upon the table.

Jim made no demonstration; he sat with his eyes fixed upon the miniature, still dazed by the blow.  There was something in his had—­something he wished to know, but his ideas were all out of control.  The thought centred with a shock.

‘Good God, no!’ he cried, clutching Ryder with a nerveless hand.  ’They hanged my brother!’

Ryder’s face was perfectly bloodless; it looked cold.  He shook his head slowly.