"What is it?"
"Sh-h-h-h-h-h. Don't talk too loud. We 've been blessed with luck already. Come 'ere."
He led the way, the man and woman following him. In the stope the Cornishman crawled carefully to the staging, and standing on tiptoes, pressed his ear against the vein above him. Then he withdrew and nodded sagely.
"That's what it is!" came his announcement at last. "You can 'ear it!"
"But what?"
"Get up there and lay your ear against that vein. See if you 'ear anything. And be quiet about it. I 'm scared to make a move, for fear somebody 'll 'ear me."
Fairchild obeyed. From far away, carried by the telegraphy of the earth—and there are few conductors that are better—was the steady pound, pound, pound of shock after shock as it traveled along the hanging wall. Now and then a rumble intervened, as of falling rock, and scrambling sounds, like a heavy wagon passing over a bridge.
Fairchild turned, wondering, then reached for Anita.
"You listen," he ordered, as he lifted her to where she could hear. "Do you get anything?"
The girl's eyes shone.