ered the steamer hand. "There are a lot of those
bogs around here, and he's stumbled into one. He's going down every
minute, too, and if you don't get him out soon you never will."

"Oh, mercy!" screamed Miss Pennington. "How horrible!"

"To be buried alive!" gasped Miss Dixon.

"Quiet!" commanded Mr. Pertell, sternly. "Come on, gentlemen!" he called
to the male members of the company. "We must save him!"

"Oh, do get me out!" cried the unfortunate Mr. Bunn.

"We'll save you!" shouted the manager, as he made a dash toward the bog
hole. He was followed by Mr. DeVere, Paul and some of the others.

"Keep back!" yelled the man from the steamer. "If you get in you won't
get out either."

"But they must save him!" cried Alice, who had gone forward with her
father.

"They can't save him by getting into the quicksand themselves!" pointed
out the man who seemed to know the deadly nature of the bog. "The only
way is to fling him a rope."

"A rope! There isn't one nearer than the steamer!" cried Mr. Pertell.

"I'll go get it!" offered Mr. Switzer. "I am a goot runner!"

"It will be too late, I'm afraid," objected the steamer hand. "He is
sinking faster now."

This was indeed but too true. Whereas at first the clinging mud and sand
of the bog hole had only been up to Mr. Bunn's knees, he was now engulfed
to his waist.

"We'll have to make a rope!" cried Mr. Towne. "Tear up our coats, or
something like that."

"I know a way, Ruth," declared Alice. "We have on two skirts. The under
one is of heavy cloth. Couldn't we tear those into strips--?"

"Of course! How wise of you to think of it!" replied the other girl.
"Daddy, we can provide a rope!" she cried, and she quickly whispered to
him what Alice had suggested.

"The very thing!" he agreed. "Quick, slip behind the bushes there and
remove your underskirts. I'll have my knife ready to slit it into
strips."

While the two moving picture girls retired for a moment their father
quickly explained their plan.

"And you may have our skirts, too," said Miss Pennington. "Only mine is
of such thin material--"

"So is mine, unfortunately," added Miss Dixon.

"Fortunately I think the two skirts of my daughters will be sufficient,"
said Mr. DeVere, as he opened his keen-bladed knife.

"Oh, I am going down!" cried Mr. Bunn, in anguished tones.

"Here are the skirts!" cried Alice, as she came out with her own and
Ruth's over her arm.

Ready hands aided Mr. DeVere in cut