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 disappointment there； but there was a sly laziness to him； a reluctance to offer more than was required of him。 Janusz's mother despaired； and she herself often did extra work her husband had ordered the boy to do； always taking the greatest care that Henryk would not find out。 They ate poorly； selling what they could of their meagre produce and； because theirs was a farm without livestock； turnips； beetroots and potatoes became their staple diet。 The boy craved something more。
Then one night his father； out of desperation and perhaps even bitterness； stole a neighbour's pig。 It was a young pig； not yet plump； but one that could be dealt with quickly and easily in the dead of night。 Henryk felled the animal with one sharp blow of a mlotek； not even its sleeping mother rousing to the short squeal of pain。 He yanked the pig from its pen； concealing it beneath his coat even though there was no one around to see； then scurried back to his own home。
The family did not wait for morning to cook their prize； for their stomachs groaned at the sight of the pink flesh。 The small animal was quickly gutted and set over the fire to roast； liver arid kidneys set aside for later consumption。 Henryk's wife chopped vegetables； adding to them dried mushrooms picked from the forest weeks earlier。 Some would be cooked for the feast they could not deny themselves that night； while what was left would be used for the soup they would make from the pig's bones and trotters。 Any guilt Kazimiera felt over her husband's dishonesty vanished as soon as the first aromas from the roasting meat wafted towards her。
Young Janusz was impatient。 And there was sornething about the pink nakedness of the uncooked pig that had its own allure。 His father brought out a bottle of the cheap wine he had taken to consoling himself with of late； filling tin mugs for himself and Kazimiera； even allowing his son one or two sips。。 It had been a long time since Henryk had felt in such hearty mood and his wife enjoyed his suddenly restored robustness。 While they toasted each other； Kazimiera almost coy under the leering looks she received from her man； Janusz's gaze kept wandering towards the liver and kidneys that lay neglected on the table。
The harsh wine on empty stomachs took no time at all to lighten heads and Henryk； after warning his son to watch the roasting pig as if his life depended on it…the slightest charring would mean the severest beating for the boy…pulled his notunwilling kochankg into the bedroom。
Janusz obeyed； turning the pig on its spit every few minutes。 His mouth was wet with juices as the meat cooked。 Yet his eyes kept returning to the raw meat glistening on the table at the centre of the room。
Making sure that the bedroom door was closed； he approached the table as stealthily as his father had approached their neighbour's farmyard。 With trembling fingers he picked up the liver； finding its clammy softness not at all unpleasant。 He sniffed the meat like a nervous mongrel。 The smell wasn't strong； yet