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.”