Little by little it assumed shape within his mind.

Swanson was the name of the missing miner, the one Burke had gone back to seek,--a Swede beyond doubt, and, from what slight glimpse he had of the fellow before Brown grappled with him in the path above, a sturdily built fellow, awkwardly galled.

In all probability such a person would have a deep voice, gruff from the dampness of long working hours below.

Well, he might not succeed in duplicating that exactly, but he could imitate Swedish dialect, and, amid the excitement and darkness, trust to luck.

Let us see; Burke had surely called one of those miners yonder Ole, another Peterson; it would probably help in throwing the fellows off their guard to hear their own names spoken, and they most naturally would expect Swanson to be with the foreman.
It appeared feasible enough, and assuredly was the only plan possible; it must be risked, the earlier the better.