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The women sang the Song of the Pick the terrible, slow, swinging melody with the muttered chorus that repeats the sliding of the loosened coal, and, to each cadence, Kundoo smote in the black dark. When he could do no more, Sunua Manji took the pick, and struck for his life and his wife, and his village beyond the blue hills over the Tarachunda River.

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.

The women sang the Song of the Pick the terrible, slow, swinging melody with the muttered chorus that repeats the sliding of the loosened coal, and, to each cadence, Kundoo smote in the black dark. When he could do no more, Sunua Manji took the pick, and struck for his life and his wife, and his village beyond the blue hills over the Tarachunda River.

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.