All trace of the doomed laborer had now disappeared. As for Tom, the
sand was reaching up under his arm-pits. The young chief engineer had
had the presence of mind to keep his arms free, but soon they too must
be swallowed up.

"Good throw--whoever sent it!" cheered Tom Reade, as a final cast--
Harry's--sent a line within six inches of his face.

Tom could not see those back at the platform, for his back was turned to
the eastward, and he could no longer swing his body about.

"Get it under your arms-quick, Tom, or you're done for, too!" screamed
Harry.

"Keep cool, old chap!" came back the unconcerned answer. "It isn't half
bad out here. The sand feels really cool about one's body."

"This is no time for nonsense!" ordered Hazelton hoarsely. "Have you
the line fast?"

"Yes!" nodded Reade. "Haul away! Careful, but strong and steady!"

Under Foreman Payson's direction a score of 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."