Samuel Harris ignored the constantly murmuring David Clark, keeping his head down as he ran, his attention completely drawn to the moving points of light in the distance. Before long, the three of them caught up with John Morgan and George Baker, only to see the two lying motionless in a depression. There were also moving points of light ahead—clearly, the Xiongnu pursuers had used their horses’ speed to encircle them.

“What do we do? There are pursuers both in front and behind!” Even the always composed John Morgan now had anxiety filling his voice.

The group poked their heads up, helplessly watching as the Xiongnu’s encirclement grew tighter. The moving lights behind them began to close in, and as they gathered together, a wailing sound like vengeful ghosts echoed through the pitch-black night.

Unlike the others, who were at a loss, Samuel Harris was extremely calm at this moment. He quickly dug into the loose yellow sand of the depression—this was the Gobi desert, with a thick layer of sand—and soon made a small, long pit. He reached out, grabbed David Clark, and threw him into the pit. “Wrap your head with your clothes and try to hold your breath.” He then covered David Clark’s curled-up body with yellow sand again, and in an instant, David Clark seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Matthew Cooper and the others stared in a daze. When they snapped out of it, they followed suit, digging their own pits, but couldn’t bury themselves and hurriedly called for Samuel Harris’s help. Yet, if Samuel Harris helped them, who would help Samuel Harris?

Samuel Harris instructed them to control their breathing, then covered the three of them as well. When helping Matthew Cooper, Matthew Cooper’s body kept trembling, and the arrow in his left arm still hadn’t been pulled out. Even after Samuel Harris covered him with sand, his form was still visible—anyone looking closely would notice a trembling sand mound. Helpless, Samuel Harris could only pile on more sand until the trembling was less noticeable.

Samuel Harris knew that people couldn’t stay under the sand for long; if they didn’t suffocate, they’d be knocked out by the scorching sand, and death would soon follow. But at the moment, there weren’t many options.

Though this description is long, it all happened in a very short time. After helping them hide, Samuel Harris raced against time to erase the surrounding footprints as best he could. In the darkness, he couldn’t be sure if he’d wiped them all away.

Suppressing the pain in his left ribs, he rolled on the ground, and his once gray-and-white camouflage uniform quickly blended with the sand. He grabbed a tuft of dry grass nearby and pressed it onto his head, lying face down with his back to the sky, his nose filled with the bitter taste of sand, his whole body trembling strangely as he burrowed into the sand. In an instant, the slightly raised long mound looked nothing like a person.

Samuel Harris was very worried that Matthew Cooper and David Clark wouldn’t make it; both were extremely weak, and if they stayed buried too long, they might die. As his mind raced, strange sounds reached his ears, and the ground began to tremble slightly—it sounded like a group of people running desperately, with dozens of warhorses in pursuit. He lay motionless, head tilted, eyes fixed on the direction of the sound.

Instinctively, Samuel Harris held his breath, his muscles tensing again, his body under the sand arching slightly, ready to spring up and attack at any moment.

Before the people arrived, their voices did. It sounded like a dozen or so people had fallen into hysteria, their terrified cries growing closer. Behind them came shouts of “yo he yo he,” sounding extremely excited, and at that moment, the sound of hooves pounding the sand became clear.

Lying hidden in the sand, Samuel Harris’s nerves tightened once more, his gaze sharpening. Almost instinctively, he calculated how long it would take for the newcomers to reach them. Soon, when he saw their figures appear on the slope, he thought to himself, “They’re here!”

Samuel Harris was now very worried that Matthew Cooper and the others would crack under pressure and suddenly reveal themselves. The newcomers didn’t stop but ran right past them. What he feared didn’t happen, but before he could feel relieved, more than twenty massive figures suddenly appeared, galloping at high speed with a chorus of “yo he” shouts.

These were Xiongnu cavalry hunting down escaped slaves. It seemed they didn’t want to kill the fleeing Han people right away, but were instead herding them like prey in a hunting game, driving them in a certain direction. The cavalry stopped on the slope to the left of where Samuel Harris and the others were hiding, grinning menacingly in the torchlight, their bloodstained curved blades playfully pointing at the still-running Han people, shouting something loudly.

From Samuel Harris’s vantage point, the not-so-tall Xiongnu horses were panting heavily, their front hooves constantly pawing at the sand. What he feared most was that the Xiongnu cavalry would ride in the direction where they were hiding—if that happened, dozens of warhorses would trample them into pulp.

As the saying goes, the more you fear something, the more likely it is to happen. The leading Xiongnu shouted something in their language, and the twenty-some cavalry moved again, splitting into groups. Three riders charged straight toward Samuel Harris and the others. In an instant, the hooves of three warhorses pounded the sand as they galloped past.