I picked up the broken piece of rib and held it in the rays of King's flashlight.
"You remember ?" said King in an undertone to me.

"You recall the Gray Mahatma's words?
'There will be nothing left for the alligators!' There's neither fat nor moisture in that bone, it's like chalk.

See ?" He squeezed it in his fingers and it crumbled.
"Huh! This fellow has been dead for centuries," said somebody.

"He can't have been a Hindu, or they'd have burned him.

No use wondering who _he_ was; there's nothing to identify him with--no hair, no clothing--nothing but dead bone." "Nothing! Nothing whatever!" said the priest with a dry laugh, and began kicking the bones here and there all over the cavern.