y were
too near the upper apex of the sand-bank.

"The child first. Here, Joey, my son! reach out and catch hold for
your life."

Taffy felt the child's grip on the crutch-head, and drawing it
steadily toward him hauled the poor child through. The light from
the cliff sank and rose behind his scared face.

"Got him?"

"Yes." The sand was closing around Taffy's legs, but he managed to
shift his footing a little.

"Quick, then; the bank's breaking up."

George was sinking, knee-deep and deeper. But his outstretched
fingers managed to reach and hook themselves around the crutch-head.

"Steady, now . . . must work you loose first. Get hold of the shaft
if you can: the head isn't firm. Work your legs . . . that's it."

George wrenched his left foot loose and planted it against the mare's
flank. Hitherto she had trusted her master. The thrust of his heel
drove home her sentence, and with scream after scream--the sand
holding her past hope--she plunged and fought for her life. Still as
she screamed, George, silent and panting, thrust against her, thrust
savagely against the quivering body, once his pride for beauty and
fleetness.

"Pull!" he gasped, freeing his other foot with a wrench which left
its heavy riding-boot deep in the sucking mud; and catching a new
grip on the crutch-head, flung himself forward.

Taffy felt the sudden weight and pulled--and while he pulled felt in
a moment no grip, no weight at all. Between two hateful screams a
face slid by him, out of reach, silent, with parted lips; and as it
slipped away he fell back staggering, grasping the useless, headless
crutch.

The mare went on screaming. He turned his back on her, and catching
Joey by the hand dragged him away across the melting island. At the
sixth step the child, hauled off his crippled foot, swung blundering
across his legs. He paused, lifted him in his arms and plunged
forward again.

The flares on the cliff were growing in number. They cast long
shadows before him. On the far side of the island the tide flowed
swift and steady--a stream about fourteen yards wide--cutting him
from the farther sand-bank on which, not fifty yards above, lay the
wreck. He whispered to Joey, and plunged into it straight, turning
as the water swept him off his legs, and giving his back to it, his
hands slipped under the child's armpits, his feet thrusting against
the tide in slow, rhythmical strokes.

The child after the first gasp lay s