“Bullia’s Room.”
“Then I have found it,” said Janki. “The name only had slipped my memory. Tibu’s gang’s gallery is here.”
“A lie,” said Kundoo. “There have been no galleries in this place since my day.”
“Three paces was the depth of the ledge,” muttered Janki, without heeding—“and—oh, my poor bones!—I have found it! It is here, up this ledge, Come all you, one by one, to the place of my voice, and I will count you,”
There was a rush in the dark, and Janki felt the first man’s face hit his knees as the Sonthal scrambled up the ledge.
“Who?” cried Janki.
“I, Sunua Manji.”
“Sit you down,” said Janki, “Who next?”
One by one the women and the men crawled up the ledge which ran along one side of “Bullia’s Room.” Degraded Muhammadan, pig-eating Musahr and wild Sonthal, Janki ran his hand over them all.
“Now follow after,” said he, “catching hold of my heel, and the women catching the men’s clothes.” He did not ask whether the men had brought their picks with them. A miner, black or white, does not drop his pick. One by one, Janki leading, they crept into the old gallery—a six-foot way with a scant four feet from hill to roof.