This thing, as I said, all happened in a flash. There was shouting, there was running about....

"Stop the machinery!" some one yelled.

"Reverse your engine!"

Tom felt himself thrust aside, lost his balance and fell into the deposit of wet sand. The pouring out of this had ceased.

"Don't let him do that! He's crazy!" some one shrieked.

"Reverse the engine; he'll come up. Don't dive—you! You'll be chewed to pieces."

"Who dived?" said Tom, scrambling to his feet.

"The body will come up when the suction stops."

"Both bodies, you mean; that crazy fool dived."

"They won't come up if they're wedged in. Keep her going—reversed."

Everybody crowded to the shore and to the deck of the dredge. The pulsating of the big line had ceased. Men shouted to do this, to do that. Others contradicted. All eyes were upon the water. They crowded each other, watching, waiting....

Then a red spot appeared on the surface. It spread and grew lighter in color as it mingled with the water. The watchers held their breath—gasped. The tension was terrible.

Then (as I said, it all happened in a flash) a hand covered with blood reached up and tried to grasp the nearest float. It disappeared, but Tom Slade had seen it and, jumping to the float, he reached down.

"I've got him—keep back—you'll sink the float——"

"Don't let go."

It was not in the nature of Tom Slade to let go.

Presently a ghastly face with red stained hair streaming over it, appeared.

"Let me take him," said Tom.

But the man with bleeding, mangled shoulder would not give up what he held, as in a grip of iron, with his other arm.

And so Tom Slade dragged the wounded creature up onto the float and there he lay in a pool of blood, still clinging to his burden.

The little boy was safe. He opened his eyes and looked about. His face was smeared with mud, one of his shoes was gone, his foot seemed to be twisted. It was all too plain that he had been within the suction pipe, within the devouring jaws of that monster serpent, when his frantic rescuer had dragged him back. But he was safe.

His rescuer was utterly crazed. Yet he seemed to know Tom.

"Safe—alive——" he muttered.

"Yes, he's safe; lie still. Get the doctor, some of you fellows—quick."

"Send, send—them away—all. You know—do you—I'm square—yes?"

"Surely," said Tom soothingly. "Lie still."

"He's alive?"

"Yes."

"Listen, come close. I'll tell you—now. I murdered a kid once—now—now I've—I've saved one——"

"Shh. It's the same one, Harlowe."

"You—you know?"

"Yes, I know. We'll talk about it after. Hold your head still—quiet—that's right. Don't think about it now. Shh—I think your arm is broken; don't move it."

"I—I—killed——"

"No, you never killed any one. Lie still—please. I know all about it. We can't talk about it now. But you never killed any one, remember that."

"You know I'm Harlowe?"

"Yes. Don't talk. That was little Willie Corbett you saved. Now don't ask me any more now; please. You don't think I'm a liar, do you? Well, I'm telling you you never killed anybody. See? You're not a murderer, you're a hero. I know all about it.... Lie still, that's right.... Don't move your arm...."