There drifted to them the sound of two shots fired in rapid succession. Roy fired twice in answer. They moved in the direction of the shooting. Again the breeze brought revolver shots. This time there were three of them. Beaudry bad an odd feeling that this was a call for help from somebody in difficulties. He quickened their pace. The nature of the ground, a good deal of which was deep sand, made fast travel impossible. "Look!" Beulah pointed forward and to the right. At the same moment there came a shout. "Help! I'm in the quicksands." They made out the figure of a man buried to his waist in the dry wash of a creek. A horse stood on the farther bank of the wash. Roy deflected toward the man, Beulah at his heels. "He must be caught in Dead Man's Sink," the girl explained. "I've never seen it, but I know it is somewhere near here. All my life I've heard of it. Two Norwegians were caught here five years ago. Before help reached them, they were lost." "Get me a rope--quick," the man in the sand called. "Why, it's Brad," cried Beulah. "Yep. Saw the smoke of yore fire and got caught trying to reach you. Can't make it alone. Thought I sure was a goner. You'll have to hurry." Already Roy was taking the riata from its place below the saddle-horn. From the edge of the wash he made a cast toward the man in the quicksands. The loop fell short. "You'll have to get into the bed of the stream," suggested Beulah. Beaudry moved across the sand a few steps and tried again. The distance was still too great. Already he was beginning to bog down. The soles of his shoes disappeared in the treacherous sand. When he moved it seemed to him that some monster was sucking at him from below. As he dragged his feet from the sand the sunken tracks filled with mud. He felt the quiver of the river-bed trembling at his weight. Roy turned to Beulah, the old familiar cold chill traveling up his spine to the roots of his hair. "It won't bear me up. I'm going down," he quavered. "Let me go, then. I'm lighter," she said eagerly. She made the proposal in all good faith, with no thought of reflecting on his courage, but it stung her lover like a slap in the face. "Hurry with that rope!" Charlton sang across. "I'm sinking fast." "Is there any way for Miss Rutherford to get over to your horse?" asked Roy quickly. "She can cross the wash two hundred yards below here. It's perfectly safe." As Roy plunged forward, he gave Beulah orders without turning his head. "You hear, dear. Run down and get across. But go over very carefully. If you come to a bad place, go back at once. When you get over tie Charlton's rope to his saddle-horn and throw him the looped end. The horse will drag him out." The young woman was off on the run before he had half finished. Once more Roy coiled and threw the rope. Charlton caught the loop, slipped it over his head, and tightened it under his arms. "All right. Pull!" he ordered.