"What shall we do with these gentlemen?" asked Rusoff. "How long shall we wait for them to come out?"
"Not very long," I answered. "Tell them that if they do not leave their arms inside and come promptly out, I shall blow up the shaft and give them a magnificent and noisy burial."
Laughing and greatly pleased with his commission, Rusoff shouted in the new warning, which simply drew a new volley out of the depths.
"Gorloff, take the smallest charge of pyroxylin, fasten a detonator and a Bickford fuse to it for a quick explosion, and throw the whole thing into the shaft as an initial warning to these mountain spirits."
As the skilful miner quickly executed my command, the pyroxylin exploded with a deafening roar and threw from the shaft opening, as though it were the muzzle of a great cannon, clouds of dust, vapour and gas intermingled with small stones and earth.
"That is only a start," thundered Rusoff. "Come out or in five minutes we shall destroy the entrance to the gallery. Be quick, you badgers!"
Our strategy proved successful, for soon we heard a voice from the gallery and negotiations began.
"Who are you?" was the first word from our invisible cliff dwellers.
"We are for the moment ourselves. You first tell who you are," Rusoff roared back at them.
"We are Georgians," was the unexpected and astonishing reply.
"Why do you stay in a hole like badgers?" returned Rusoff.
"Well, it has pleased us so to do," answered the voice from below; and I perceived in it the hidden laugh which
