men seized the other end of
the line and then began to haul.

Harry danced up and down in a frenzy.

"Tom, you idiot," he gasped. "You haven't made the line fast about
yourself."

"Not yet," came the cheery answer. "That wouldn't be fair play. Haul
away on our friend out yonder."

Tom Reade had knotted the line fast to his end of the rawhide lariat
that was tied under the shoulders of the engulfed laborer. It was
magnificent, though seemingly a useless sacrifice of his own life for
one who must already be dead.

From some of the workmen a faint cheer went up as the slowly incoming
line hauled the head of the unconscious laborer above the sand. A foot
at a time the body came toward them over the sand.

Harry, however, scarcely noted the rescue. He was frantically working
with another line, knotting it in a sort of harness under his own
shoulders.

"Come here, some of you men!" he called. "Bear a hand here! Lively!"

Foreman Payson was instantly at the side of the young assistant
engineer.

"What are you trying to do, Mr. Hazelton?" he demanded.

"I'm going out on the sands," retorted Harry. "I'm going to reach Tom
Reade. If I go under the men can aid me."

"But that isn't a rawhide line; it's hemp," objected Foreman Payson.

"It's strong enough," retorted Hazelton impatiently.

"I don't know about that."

"It will have to do," insisted Hazelton. "You men get a good hold. Also,
one of you play out this other line that I'm taking with me for Tom
Reade."

"Don't risk anything foolish, Harry!" called the voice of Tom Reade, who
now felt the sand under his chin.

"I'm coming to you," Tom, shouted Harry.

"It's too dangerous. Don't!"

"I've got to come to you!"

"I tell you don't! Maybe I can get myself out."

"Yes, you can," jeered Hazelton. "Tom, if you went under, do you think I
could ever go back to our native town?"

"Payson!" shouted Tom.

"Yes, sir!"

"Don't let Mr. Hazelton come--yet. Seize him!"

"I've got him, sir!"

Harry felt himself seized by the strong arms of the foreman.

"You don't go, sir," Payson insisted. "It's a criminal waste of life."

"Man, unhand me. Let me go, I tell you."

"I won't, sir. I've Mr. Reade's orders."

"He's helpless and no longer in command," Harry retorted.

"He's in command enough for me, sir."

"Payson!" Harry Hazelton's fierce gaze burned into the eyes of the
foreman. "If Tom Reade dies out yonder, and you've hindered me from
saving him--I'