"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.