.
"I'm goin' to," he said aloud, "if I can--but--I'm afraid he's gone.
I'll try anyhow--you lay there an' rest--" at the same time remounting
his horse.

The sand covered the rump of Old Blue. The saddle, Parker's it was, was
nearly submerged, only the horn and cantle showing above the slimy mass.
His head, neck and the top of his withers were yet exposed. He still
struggled, wallowing feebly, vainly resisting the downward pull of the
sand. Crouching, as if fascinated by the terrible scene, Carolyn June
watched as the Ramblin' Kid, waiting his opportunity, at the instant the
horse in the sand lifted his head deftly flung the rope over his neck.
With a short jerk of the wrist he tightened the noose till it closed
snugly about the throat of the broncho. Again turning Captain Jack away
from the bank he urged him slowly forward. The rope stiffened. The
little stallion bunched himself and desperately strained against the
dead weight of Old Blue, multiplied many times by the suction of the
sand. The Ramblin' Kid leaned far over the neck of Captain Jack to give
the horse the advantage of his own weight and looked back, watching the
supreme efforts of the mired broncho as he fought to climb out of the
sand. A moment it looked as if the little roan would drag him out.
Slowly he seemed to be raising and moving forward. There was a sharp
snap. Half-way down its length the lariat parted. At the weak spot the
strain was too great. Captain Jack plunged forward to his knees, his
nose rooting the earth, and the Ramblin' Kid barely saved himself from
pitching over the horse's head.

"That's what I was dreadin'--" he said as he turned and rode back to the
edge of the sand.

Carolyn June gazed, wide-eyed, speechless with horror, at the horse in
the sand. When the rope broke, Old Blue, with a groan almost human, sank
back and quickly settled down until only his head and part of his neck
were exposed to view. The Ramblin' Kid looked at the broken rope--the
end fastened around the throat of Old Blue had whipped back and was
lying far beyond the cowboy's reach. The piece half-hitched to the
saddle horn was too short for another throw. Old Blue was doomed.
Carolyn June saw him sinking gradually, surely, into the sand. It seemed
ages. His eyes appealed with dumb pathos to the group on the bank. They
could hear his breath coming in harsh, terrible gasps. The sand seemed
to be deliberately torturing him as though it were some hellish thing,
a