Away to my right, I could see the first of the foothills. This worried me. Before long, they would make a barrier, and would allow the line of men to swing in on my left. If I didn’t look out I could be trapped.
I decided to make the attempt to break their line before I got into the foothill country.
Breaking into a run, I sprinted ahead, then began to wheel sharply to my left.
There was an immediate shout behind me.
Glancing round I saw three men pounding across the sand to cut me off. I increased my speed, but I had a lot more ground to cover. I was panting now, and every now and then I stumbled in the loose sand.
One of the fishermen, a big, powerful guy, could run. His long legs flew over the ground as he headed me off.
We raced for the gap between the first of the foothills. If I could beat him I would be out in the open country again. If he beat me, I’d be bottled up in a narrowing strip of desert where, sooner or later, I would be trapped.
I judged the distance and saw he was gaining on me. Gritting my teeth, I increased my speed. I pulled ahead. The other men, all running now, were hopelessly outpaced, but this one guy stuck to me. The gap loomed nearer. I could see him now: see the red, hard face, the sweat running down from under his cap, the fixed grin. He swerved towards me, came at me like a charging bull.
I tried to dodge, but he was ready for that. He closed in on me, his hands grabbing my coat.
I swung at him, but he ducked, his arms encircling me in a bear-like hug. We stumbled, wrestled and went down in the sand.