Figure it Out For Yourself

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.

I slugged him on the side of his head, but it was only a half-arm blow and didn't carry much steam. He raised himself off me and clubbed down at my upturned face with his fist. I just managed to get my face out of the way and belted him in the chest, a good, solid punch that sent him over on his back.

I scrambled to my feet in time to stop his rush with a jab to his face. His head went back, and I sailed in, punching with both hands. I caught him on the side of his jaw and his knees buckled. A long, looping right-hand punch sent him to the sand.

The way was open now, but my breath had gone, and I could scarcely move one leg after the other.

'Hold it!'

The menace in the voice made me turn.

The short, square-shouldered character had come pounding up. In his right fist he held a .45, pointing at me.

I stopped.

'Reach up and clasp some cloud!'

My hands went up. It was a relief just to stand there and get my breath. With any luck at all, Paula would be well out of the way by now.

The fisherman I had knocked down got to his feet. He came across to me, a sheepish grin on his face.

'Frisk him, Mac,^' the broad-shouldered character said.

Mac ran his hands over me, found the .25 and tossed it to his companion.

'That's the lot, Joe,' he said and stepped back.

Joe came closer; his small eyes probed my face.

'Who are you? Ain't seen you before,' he said, puzzled.

'Malloy's the name.'

'That's the guy she was telling you about,' Mac said, showing interest.

Joe scowled.

'Yeah; that's right. Poking your snout in Barratt's affairs, were you?' he demanded, pushing the gun at me.

'Well, yes; put it that way if you like,' I said. 'Didn't he tell you?'

Joe grinned.

'You got us wrong. We ain't Barrett's boys. We're a little private party all on our own.'

The five other men came pounding up, panting and gasping for breath. They closed round me threateningly, but Joe waved them back.

'Mac, take these guys and finish the job. I'm taking him to the cabin. When you're through, come on back.'

Mac nodded, motioned to the other five men and set off across the sand towards the mine, leaving me alone with Joe.

'Look, pally,' Joe said, making a stabbing movement with his gun, 'just do what you're told, and you'll be all right. I don't want to make a hole in you, but if you tempt me, I'll do it.'

I was now calm enough to study him. He was about forty, with a round, fleshy face, small eyes, thin lips and the heaviest five o'clock shadow I've ever seen. Although he was short, I could tell by the build of his shoulders, by the short neck and the size of his hands, that he was as powerful as a gorilla.

'Go ahead,' he said, 'and keep moving. I'll tell you when to stop.' He waved vaguely towards the foothills. 'You've got quite a nice little walk, so stretch your legs. If you even look over your shoulder, I'll plug you. Understand?'

I said I understood.

'Get going, then.'

I started off, not knowing where I was heading, hearing him behind me, too far away to make a grab at him, but close enough for him to hit me if he squeezed the trigger.

I was asking myself who this mob was. Where did they spring from? What was the job they had gone back to finish? I thought with satisfaction that the chances were they'd run into Mifflin and his boys.

That's the guy she was telling you about.

Who was she?