In a twinkling he was out on the sand.
Grip! Mr.Payson had a strong hold on the collar of the assistant engineer.
"Let go of me!" commanded Harry.
"You can't go out there, Mr.Hazelton.No more lives are to be wasted." "Let go of me, I tell you!" "No, sir!" insisted Foreman Payson firmly.
"Let go of me, or I'll fight you!" "You'll have to fight, then," retorted Payson doggedly, maintaining his grip on the lad's coat collar.

"Comeback here!" Aided by another man, the foreman dragged Hazelton back to the platform.
"Payson, I'll discharge you, if you interfere with me!" stormed Hazelton.
"Don't be a fool, sir.

You can't help Mr.Reade.Be cool, sir.

Keep your head and direct us like a man of sense." "Be a man of sense, and see my chum going under the sands of the Man-killer ?" flared Hazelton.
He made a bound, doubling his fists threateningly.

Then three or four men, at a sign from Payson, seized the young assistant engineer and threw him to the ground.
"Tom," called Harry, "order these fools to let me go." Reade, however, who had just pulled in all the slack of the rawhide lariat, and had made it fast about his own left arm, seemed wholly unaware of his own great peril.
Tom Reade was now submerged to his waistline in the engulfing sand.
Unless rescued within five minutes the young chief engineer was plainly doomed to be swallowed up in the treacherous sands of the Man-killer.
Only a few seconds below the shifting level of the sand would be enough to smother the life out of him.