The remainder of the fellows composing the
party had largely disappeared farther down, although the sound of their
busy picks was clearly audible.
"Where the hell is Swanson?" blurted out the foreman suddenly. "He
belongs in this gang. Here you, Ole, what 's become o' Nelse Swanson?"
The fellow thus directly addressed drew his hand across his mouth,
straightening up slightly to answer.
"Eet iss not sumtings dot I know, Meester Burke. He seems not here."
"Not here; no, I should say not, ye cross-oied Swade. But Oi 'm dommed
if he did n't come down in the cage wid' us, for Oi counted the lot o'
yez. Don't any o' you lads know whut 's become o' the drunken lout?"
There was a universal shaking of heads, causing the lights to dance
dizzily, forming weird shadows in the gloom, and the irritated foreman
swore aloud, his eyes wandering back down the tunnel.
"No doubt he's dhrunk yet, an' laid down to slape back beyant in the
passage," he growled savagely. "Be all the powers, but Oi 'll tache
that humpin' fool a lesson this day he 'll not be apt to fergit fer a
while.
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