Springing to the ground, he drew his pistol and moved forward silently. Scarcely had he taken a dozen steps than he realized the cause of his mare's unwillingness to proceed further.
He was in a bed of quicksand.
Anybody who knows what a bed of quicksand is knows how dangerous it is—dangerous to both man and beast. Just as the scout made his discovery he sank up to his knees in the mass.
"By jove! I must get back out of this, and in double-quick order," he muttered, and tried to turn, to find himself sinking up to his waist.
Pawnee Brown was now fully alive to the grave peril of his situation.
He tried by all the strength at his command to pull himself to the firm ground from which he had started.
He could not budge a foot. True, he took one step, but it was only to sink in deeper than ever.
Several minutes of great anxiety passed. He had sunk very nearly up to his armpits.
Quarter of an hour more and he would be up to his head, and then? Brave as he was, the great scout did not dare to think further. The idea of a death in the treacherous quicksand was truly horrible.
His friends would wonder what had become of him, but it was not likely that they would ever find his body.
