In the meantime Tom was wholly unaware that the engulfing quicksand was reaching up gradually toward his hips.
Foreman Payson had ceased to try to attract Tom's attention. Whatever was to be done to save the chief engineer must be done swiftly. There was not another lariat, or any kind of rope at hand.
Behind was a cloud of alkali dust. Harry Hazelton was riding as fast as he could urge a spirited horse.
In another moment Hazelton had reined up at the edge of the group, dismounting and tossing the reins to one of the workmen.
“My man, you get on that horse and fly for a rope!” ordered Harry.
This last Hazelton shot back over his shoulder, for he was pushing his way through the rapidly forming crowd to Payson's side. Another foreman had just come up.
“Mr. Bell,” shouted Harry, “drive the men back who are not needed. We don't want to put a lot of weight on the soil here and cause a further cave-in.”
By this time Harry was at the edge of the platform. In a twinkling he was out on the sand.
Grip! Mr. Payson had a strong hold on the collar of the assistant engineer.
“You can't go out there, Mr. Hazelton. No more lives are to be wasted.”
“No, sir!” insisted Foreman Payson firmly.
“You'll have to fight, then,” retorted Payson doggedly, maintaining his grip on the lad's coat collar. “Comeback here!”
Aided by another man, the foreman dragged Hazelton back to the platform.
“Payson, I'll discharge you, if you interfere with me!” stormed Hazelton.
“Don't be a fool, sir. You can't help Mr. Reade. Be cool, sir. Keep your head and direct us like a man of sense.”
“Be a man of sense, and see my chum going under the sands of the Man-killer?” flared Hazelton.
He made a bound, doubling his fists threateningly. Then three or four men, at a sign from Payson, seized the young assistant engineer and threw him to the ground.
“Tom,” called Harry, “order these fools to let me go.”
Reade, however, who had just pulled in all the slack of the rawhide lariat, and had made it fast about his own left arm, seemed wholly unaware of his own great peril.
Tom Reade was now submerged to his waistline in the engulfing sand.
Unless rescued within five minutes the young chief engineer was plainly doomed to be swallowed up in the treacherous sands of the Man-killer. Only a few seconds below the shifting level of the sand would be enough to smother the life out of him. Scores of strong men, powerless to help, watched hopelessly within a few yards of the two whose lives were being slowly but surely snuffed out.