Inch by inch they gained. The chest was dragged slowly through the
boiling sands to the pitside, where it was necessary to raise it to
firmer ground. The boys dared not go close to the edge for fear of
starting the sand caving. Their backs were straining under the burden.
Their hands were burning from their grasp on the line.
"Pull!" gasped Tom, throwing every ounce of his weight into the work.
"Pull," he gasped again.
The games in which his comrades had indulged hardening their muscles
were now becoming of benefit to them. The tugs-of-war were showing their
practical value. No similar number of boys of equal weight could have
exerted the power that this group did with their trained ability to pull
all together and keep pulling all the time.
But even as they pulled and felt victory nearly within their grasp they
realized that the sand was mightier than they. Their strength could last
but a little while, whereas that of the quicksand was constant. The
strain was telling on them. It seemed as if only a few more pounds on
the rope would swing the balance in their favor. And that help was near.
Dashing from the clump of palmettos where he had remained, Rowdy came
bounding over the intervening space. His fear was now gone and when he
saw the boys at the pit he seemed to overcome his terror that had been
so apparent at the time of the explosion.
To his canine mind the boys were playing a game that he liked. A tug of
war was his pet diversion.
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