n being_, man!"

Van had not hesitated by so much as a moment as to what he meant to do.
He was off his horse in a leap. He paused for a second to looked about
for any accidental means of assistance the place might afford. It
afforded none. The man in the quicksand continued to yell, to struggle
hopelessly, to sink in that shivering pool of life-engulfing stuff.

Then the horseman thought of his rope, the raw-hide lasso, always
secured upon his saddle. He snatched at the knots to tear it loose.

"Don't move--don't struggle!" he shouted at the man, and down toward
the edge he came running, the rope-noose running out as he sped.

He dared not step beyond the bank, and so involve himself. Barger was
well out from the edge. The throw at best was long and difficult.

"Hold up your hands, above your head!" he called. "Don't thrash
around!"

The convict obeyed. His haggard, bearded face was turned to Van like a
mask of horror. The eyes were blazing fearfully. The fellow's
attitude, as he held his hands above his head, and continued to sink,
was a terrible pose of supplication--an awful eloquence of prayer.

Van threw--and the cast fell short.

Barger groaned. He had ceased to yell. He remained mutely holding up
his hands, while the cold abyss crept upward to his waist--the wet lips
swallowing, swallowing in silence.

Van jerked in the rope with one impatient gesture. He coiled it
swiftly, but with nicety. Then round and round he swung the gaping
loop--and threw with all his strength.

For a second the loop hung snake-like in the air, above the convict's
head. Then it fell about him, splashed the curdled sand, and was
pulled up taut, embracing Barger's waist.

"Hoist it up under your arms!" called Van. "Try to move your legs when
I pull!"

He wasted no time in attempting to haul the convict out himself. He
led his pony quickly to the edge, took two half hitches of the rope
about the pommel of the saddle, then shouted once more to his man.

"Ready, Barger. Try to kick your feet." To the horse he said: "Now,
Suvy, a strong, steady pull." And taking the pony's bit in hand he
urged him slowly forward,

It was wonderful, the comprehension in the broncho's mind. But the
pull was an awful thing. The rope came taut--and began to be strained,
and Suvy was sweating as he labored. Out on the end of it, bitten by
the loop, that slipped ever tighter about him, the human figure was
bent over sharply, b