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a tree。
Light faded as he passed beneath the canopy of leaves。 It was cooler； although not much； and Halloran quickened his pace。 The more he progressed； the dimmer became the light。 Soon it was as though night had fallen prematurely。 His senses sharpened and he allowed his vision to wander； never focusing on any particular section of forest for too long； constantly shifting his attention from one dark area to another。
At first he thought he had imagined the snuffling； for it had been barely audible over the sound of his own footsteps； but then it came again。 He stopped to listen。 Nothing now。 And that in itself was unusual； for the woods were always full of noises of some kind； small scufflings； the flapping of wings； an owl settling in for the night's vigil。 Over many years he had learned to discern nature's disturbances from those that might originate from stealthy humans； the difference being that animal or natural noises generally continued even if for no more than a second or two； whereas those caused by humans…be they hiding or stalking prey …had a tendency to cease immediately。
He resumed his journey； the tension in his stride indicating an extra alertness。 Keeping his steps as quiet as possible； Halloran moved into the curve of the tunnel。 A rustling to his right； a definite movement。 He carried on walking； a hand reaching under his jacket to the butt of the Browning。 More movement； something keeping pace with him。 He began to suspect what that something might be。
He had assumed that the dogs were controlled during the daytime and allowed to run free at night。 Perhaps it was at dusk that their keeper set them loose on their own。
Snuffling noises again； and then a louder rustling through the undergrowth as though the animals were hurrying to get ahead of him。 Initially the sounds had e from some distance inside the woodland； but now they were drawing close； as if the dogs were cutting in at an angle。 Halloran deliberately maintained his own steady pace。
For one brief moment he caught sight of a shadow loping through the trees； low to the ground。 It was followed by another； then another 。 。 。 he watched a stream of shadows slinking through the undergrowth。
Strange that they didn't e straight at him； but maybe that was part of their training； to cut off and intimidate rather than attack。 He sincerely hoped so。 Could be that they'd also been trained to keep silent while they tracked their quarry。 Halloran resisted the urge to break into a run； knowing he would never outpace them： there was no point in turning back either…they'd only follow。 He slid the gun from its holster and held it down by his side。
It could have been midnight； so dark had it bee under the trees。 The disturbance to his right had settled as though the procession of dim shapes had passed on its way； having had no real interest in the solitary walker。 Halloran did not relax his guard。
Something moved out into the open ahead。 He could hardly make out the dog's form so mantled was the roadway； but he could hear the soft panting。 The animal loitered there； making no other sound。 Waiting for him。 Soon others joined it； slinking from the undergrowth to create an undefined obstacle across the roadway。 Their bined breathing seemed to take on a rhythm。
Halloran aimed the weapon in their direction。 He moved forward again； his step slow and steady； his body erect； offering the beasts no fear。
He heard their base； scratchy snarling。 Drawing near he sensed rather than saw those closest tensing themselves to pounce。 l He was within seven or eight feet of the nearest shadow。 His steps did not falter。
Until there was a different sound； and this from behind； growing louder by the moment。 He stopped； but dared not look away from those looming shapes lest they take advantage of a brief second's distraction。 The trees and the Toad were being brighter as lights approached； rounding the bend。 Illuminating what lay ahead of Halloran。
He drew in a breath； his grip tightening an the automatic。 Eyes； yellow…white in the glare from the car's headlights； were watching him。 The rest of their lean bodies became brighter。
They were indeed dogs； but of a special loathsome breed。
They stole back into the woods； soon swallowed by its inkiness； and he listened to their quiet retreat until the sounds had faded pletely。
The car drew up behind him and he slid the gun back into the holster。 He turned around to face the vehicle； shielding his eyes with an arm and； save for the dazzling lights and the sofa purr of its engine； the car might never have been there； for its blackness blended perfectly with the darkness of the forest。 As he walked around to the driver's side he heard a window descending。 ；A broad face appeared； barely recognisable in the dimness。
'It is better that I drive you back to the house； moj kolega；' said Palusinski。 'The jackal can be a ferocious beast； particularly against the defenceless。' JANUSZ PALUSINSKI…A PEASANT'S SURVIVAL His father； Henryk Palusinski； had been a hero of the people； a peasant farmer who had joined the march to Zamosc to do battle with the much…feared General Semyon Budenny of Russia's First Cavalry。
So fiercely did the tiny ragbag army of Polish cavalry； peasants and gentry fight there； sheer desperation their driving force； that General Budenny had no other choice but to order a retreat and flee back to Russia with his defeated and humiliated troops。
The year was 1920； and Janusz Palusinski had not yet been born。
Henryk returned to his village wearied but triumphant； the sabre slash wound in his side never to heal pletely； weeping small amounts of blood mixed with foul…smelling poison for years to e。 The villagers were proud of their man and； still mourning for those who had not e back from battle； pledged their help to Kazimiera； their hero's devoted wife； in running the small farm until Henryk was well enough to cope for himself。 Unfortunately it was two years before he was able to plough his field again； and then only with his faithful Kazimiera by his side to lend support。 Still his neighbours offered assistance； but less so than before； hero…worship is difficult to sustain when danger has long since passed。 Besides； Henryk was no longer the solid and pleasant individual they had once respected and liked： his disability and reliance on others had soured him considerably。
So by the time little Janusz was born some three years later； conditions in the Palusinski household （which had always been less than fortable anyway） had somewhat deteriorated。 Nevertheless the couple were happy to have been blessed with a son； he would grow broad and strong as his father had once been； and in time would work the farm； rebuild it to its former （modest） glory。 Providing they didn't all starve before he came of working age。
Due to Kazimiera's fortitude and the continuing kindness of others…albeit a dwindled kindness…the Palusinski family survived。 But the father became more morose as the son grew older； for Janusz was not the kind of boy Henryk had in mind when he had dreamt of the offspring he would eventually raise。 The boy was sturdy enough； no disappoin