A new phase of his danger seared like a flame across the brain of Beaudry.  He had dragged himself from a perpendicular position.  As soon as he let loose of the rope he would begin to sink forward.  This would reduce materially the time before his face would sink into the sand.

Why not hang on and let the horse drag him out, too?  He had as much right to live as Charlton.  Was there any law of justice that forced him to throw away the rope that was his only hope?

But he knew the tough little cowpony could not drag two heavy men from the quicksands at the same time.  If he held tight, Charlton, too, would be sacrificed.  His fingers opened.

Roy watched the struggle on the opposite side of the wash.  Charlton was in almost to his arm-pits.  The horse braced its feet and pulled.  Beulah, astride the saddle, urged it to the task again and again.  At first by imperceptible gains, then inch by inch, the man was dragged from the mire that fought with a thousand clinging tentacles for its prey.

Not till Charlton was safe on the bank did Beulah realize the peril of Beaudry.  One glance across the river showed her that he was sliding face downward to a shifting grave.  With an anguished little cry she released the rope from Charlton’s body, flung herself to the saddle again, and dashed down the bank of the creek.

Roy lost count of time.  His face was sliding down toward the sand.  Soon his mouth and nostrils would be stopped.  He believed that it was a question of minutes with him.

Came the swift pounding of hoofs and Beulah’s clear, ringing voice.

“Hold your hands straight out, Roy.”

His back was toward her, so that he did not see what she meant to do.  But he obeyed blindly.  With a wrench first one hand and then the other came free from the sand and wavered into the air heavily.  A rope sang, dropped over his arms and head, tightened with a jerk around his waist.

Two monsters seemed to be trying to tear him in two.  A savage wrench of pain went through him jaggedly.  At short intervals this was repeated.

In spite of the suction of the muddy sand he felt its clutch giving way.  It loosened a little here, a little there.  His body began to move.  After a long tug he came out at last with a rush.  But he left his high cowpuncher’s boots behind.  They remained buried out of sight in the sand.  He had literally been dragged out of them.

Roy felt himself pulled shoreward.  From across the quicksands came Charlton’s whoop of triumph.  Presently Beulah was stooping over him with tender little cries of woe and joy.

He looked at her with a wan, tired smile.  “I didn’t think you’d make it in time.”  In a moment he added:  “I was horribly afraid.  God, it was awful!”

“Of course.  Who wouldn’t have been?” She dismissed his confession as of no importance.  “But it’s all over now.  I want to hug you tight to make sure you’re here, boy.”