is head down, his muzzle almost touching the ground, as if
scenting, feeling, his way, he went forward stepping rapidly, easily, as
possible. At each step his foot slipped lower into the yielding,
quivering mass. Carolyn June felt him tremble and the sensation that the
horse was being pulled from under her grew more and more pronounced. She
noticed how he sank into the sand and observed also the sweat beginning
to darken the hair on the neck of her mount.

"Pretty soft, isn't it?" she said, speaking to the broncho kindly as
though to encourage him and perhaps at the same time to allay a bit the
queer sense of uneasiness she felt, for even yet she did not realize the
danger into which she had unknowingly ridden.

Half-way to the firm black soil of the southern bank of the stream Old
Blue's front feet seemed suddenly to give way beneath him. He began to
plunge desperately. Then it was the truth came to Carolyn June. Her
cheeks grew white.

"The quicksand!" she exclaimed aloud, at the same time trying to help
the horse with a lift of the reins. It was too late to turn back. Her
only salvation lay in reaching the solid ground such a few yards
ahead--and yet so fearfully far away. Old Blue struggled madly to go
forward, gaining a little but at each effort sinking deeper into the
sand. Carolyn June tried to encourage him with words:

"Come on, come on! Good Little Horse--you can make it! Keep
trying--that's it--now!--you're doing it! Brave Old Blue--don't give
up--don't give up, Boy!" she pleaded, pity for the horse causing her
almost to forget her own terrible peril.

It was useless.

Twenty-five feet from safety Old Blue's front quarters went down until
his breast was against the sand. The hind legs were buried to the
stifles. He wallowed and floundered helplessly. His hoofs touched
nothing solid on which to stand. He stretched his head forward,
straining-to lift himself away from that horrible, clinging suction. His
efforts only forced him down--down--always down!

Carolyn June's own feet were in the sand. She threw herself from the
saddle--as far to one side and ahead of the horse as she could. With her
weight removed perhaps Old Blue could get out. Anyway it was death to
stay on the horse. Perhaps alone she could escape--she was lighter--the
sand might hold her up--by moving rapidly surely she could go that short
twenty-five feet to the firm ground ahead of her. At the first step she
sank half-way to her thigh. S