“It sucks at you,” he called.  “It’s all greasy.”

He moved on, and came to the sand island.

“It’s better here,” he called.  “I’ll be all right now.”

The Frenchman jumped to his feet.

“Look out!” he shouted, gesticulating violently.  “You go down; walk off ’im!”

Mills glanced down, and saw that the creeping sand had him knee-deep.  He dragged his right foot forth and plunged forward, but with the action his left leg sank to the crutch, and he only kept his balance with a violent effort.

The Frenchman danced on the bank.  “Throw you’ gun down,” he shouted.  “Throw you’ boots down.  You’ in to the waist now.  Push yo’self back to the water.  Push hard.”

He wrung his hands together with excitement.

Mills threw down his gun, and the sand swallowed it at once.  He turned his head to the man at the bank.

“It’s no good, chum,” he said quietly.  “I reckon you better take a shot at me with that revolver.”

The sand was in his armpits.  The Frenchman ceased to jump and wring his hands, and smiled at him oddly.  Mills, in the midst of his trouble, felt an odd sense of outraged propriety.  The smile, he reflected, was ill-timed—­and he was sinking deeper.

“What you grinning at?” he gasped.  “Shoot, can’t you?”

“I coom pull you out,” said the Frenchman, fumbling at the buckle of his belt, and he forthwith stepped into the water.

He waded swiftly to within five feet of the sinking man, and flung him the end of the belt.  Mills failed to catch it, and the Frenchman shifted his feet cautiously and flung again.

“Now,” he shouted as the trader gripped it, “catch ’old tight,” and he started to drag him bodily forwards.

“Careful,” cried Mills; “you’re sinking!”

The Frenchman stepped free hastily, and strained on the belt again.  Mills endeavored to kick with his entombed legs, and called a warning as his rescuer sunk in the sands.  Thus they wrestled, and at length Mills found his head in the water and his body free.

He rose, and they waded to the bank.

“Of all the quicksands I ever saw,” said the trader slowly, as he sat down and gazed at the place that had so nearly been his grave, “that one’s the worst.”

“‘Orrid,” agreed the Frenchman, smiling amicably.  “You was ver’ near buried, eh?”

“Yes,” said the trader thoughtfully.  “I suppose anyone ’ud say you saved my life, Frenchy.”

“Yea,” replied the other.

“Exactly,” said Mills.  “Well there’s my hand for you, Frenchy.  You done me a good turn.  I’ll do as much for you one of these days.”

“Eh?” said the Frenchman as he shook hands.

“You’ve got a nasty habit of saying ‘Eh?’” retorted the trader.  “I said I’d do as much for you one of these days.  Comprenny?”

“Oh yais,” smiled the Frenchman.  “I think you will.  Tha’s all right.”