“A rope!” he shouted, and seized the thirty-foot lariat that was handed him. With this, Tom, now on foot, ran within casting distance of the unfortunate, who was being rapidly enveloped by the quicksand.
“Come back, Mr. Reade!” bellowed Foreman Payson. “The drift is setting in on this side of you. Back, like lightning, or you're a doomed man! You'll be swallowed up by the Man-killer yourself!”
But Tom, intent only on saving the unfortunate laborer beyond, was wholly heedless of the fact that his own life was in as great danger.
CHAPTER X. HARRY FIGHTS FOR COMMAND
“Come back, Mr. Reade!” implored Foreman Payson.
For Tom, who had made two casts with the lariat and failed, was knee-deep in shifting sand himself.
“Keep cool!” the young chief engineer called over his shoulder. “I'll be back—both of us in a minute or two.”
The hapless laborer was now engulfed to his neck in the quicksand.
“Save me! In Heaven's name get me out of this!” begged the poor fellow, frenzied by dread of his seemingly sure fate.