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o。 Gaping holes had been plugged with cut…off tin sheets or pieces of left…over wire…netting； improvisation sufficing； but there came a time when you realised that you were fighting a losing battle。 This place had got in a shit…awful state。 Now it seemed that it had won。
Another gate； a loop of binder twine holding it to the rough…hewn post。 Jon Quinn rested a hand that trembled slightly on the top bar； had to make a conscious effort to look into the field beyond。
Charolais calves； four of them grazing just inside the tract of rough pasture。 He knew they would not be normal； steeled himself to run a glance over them。 Coffee…coloured beasts but their smooth coats no longer had that silky eye…pleasing look about them。 Rough and mangy； plastered with mud where they had chosen to spend the night out rather than return to the shelter in the far corner。 Nervous； ears flicking； sensing an enemy； as wary as highland deer even before they saw the two humans by the gate。
Heads tossed； hind legs kicked in the air； and then they were stampeding； a headlong flight in the opposite direction； bellowing their terror as they ran。
'I thought as much；' Jon muttered； clutching the gate with both hands。 'It was too much to hope for 。。。 hey 。 。 。' his eyes narrowed and he felt his pulses beginning to pound again。
'What is it； Jon？ For God's sake what's wrong now？'
'Four of them；' he whispered； 'but there should be five。
Calves invariably stay together。 We'd better go and look for the fifth。'
'No！' She was pulling at him now； using every ounce of her puny strength to drag him back。 'It isn't safe to go in there。 I don't want to。 They might attack us； like that goat did'。
'He was a billy； the male of the species。' Jon did his best to smile reassuringly； knew that he made a hash of it because he felt his lower lip trembling。 'The nannies didn't bother us so there's no reason why these heifers should。 We don't have any bull calves and these are only youngsters anyway； no more than three months old。 You can see how scared they are。 I'm going； but you can stop here； if you want。'
'I'm ing with you。' She began to climb after him； her torn overalls snagging on the rusted bars of the gate。 No way was she going to be left here alone。 That mad billy goat was only in the adjoining field and suppose he found a weak part in the straggling hedge。 And those hens in the trees behind； they were wild and fierce like birds of prey。 Sylvia Atkinson was determined not to let Jon Quinn out of her sight。
The fields sloped down to a dip that was hidden from their view。 Uneven tussocks that had had the butt grazed out of them by generations of livestock over the years； sour ground that would never be lush again without reseeding； but that wasn't Jon's way； a natural pastureland was his ideal but right now there was nothing natural about anything。
The four calves had run down into the dip； splashed their way through a patch of boggy ground and were cantering up the other side。 They stopped； turned back to look。 Calmer； moving away at a walk。 Uneasy but their panic had subsided now that they had put some distance between themselves and the intruders in their field。
Jon slowed his pace； he did not want to alarm the calves any more than was necessary。 Beyond his own boundary hedge the land sloped sharply upwards； Bill Gwyther's fields； always dotted with peacefully grazing sheep except during the winter months when the flock was moved lower down close to the farm buildings。 The sheep were still there but today they were huddled together in a corner； a bunch of plaintively bleating frightened animals that sought safety in numbers。
What the hell's got into them； Jon thought； they can't even see us from up there。 Something's frightened them。 Up above Gwyther's land the skyline terminated in a line of dark even firs； the beginning of some five hundred acres of Forestry mission woods that followed along the ridge and down over the other sides。 Artificial woodlands； symmetry that was not consistent with this wild landscape； thousands of rows of trees with only the odd self…set seedlings out of place。 A dark forbidding world where it never got properly light； no undergrowth able to grow below the branches。 You could get lost up there if you forgot your bearings。 A world of silence virtually devoid of wildlife。
That fifth calf could not have got out of the field； Jon was sure of that。 Only this last spring he had blocked up every patch of sparse growth in the hedges； unsightly but effective。 It had to be down in the hollow； possibly stuck in the cloying mud or else just after water。 Either way 。 。 。 Sylvia Atkinson screamed； a piercing shriek that the echoes immediately took up and magnified； starting those four nervous calves running again； tearing blindly back along the hedgeside。 And in that instant Jon saw why she had screamed。
Out of the dip came a grey…black fearsome brute； long pointed ears lying flat along its head； bushy tail streaming out behind it as it ran。 Only once did it turn its head to look back and the watchers saw slobbering open jaws； and eyes that seemed to glint redly in the sunlight。 A rough coat； bare in places as if it had been devastated by mange。 Even as Sylvia's scream died away the waiting echoes took up the bestial howl； a bloodchilling sound that was filled with hate and anger but not fear。 The creature fled because its instincts manded it to but in no way was it afraid of Man； 'Gwyther's Alsatian。' At least Jon thought that that was what it was； the resemblance was vaguely familiar although he was sure that the dog had never been quite as big as that。 He shivered； recalled the goats and the hens； how they had once looked； the calves； too。
'It's。 。 。like a。 。 。 a wolf。' Sylvia was trembling violently and for one awful moment Jon thought that she was going to pass out。 Every vestige of colour had drained from her face and only by holding on to him did she manage to remain upright。 But it had to be Bill Gwyther's dog； it couldn't be anything else； there was no other feasible explanation。 At least； none that he could e up with。
His narrowed eyes followed the Alsatian's flight； now an easy loping stride that carried it up the far bank to the right of the cattle； through a gap in the hedge and into the sheepfield beyond。
The sheep milled； their frightened bleating filling the still air； pressing back into that corner； oblivious of the cruel strands of barbed…wire。 By some miracle the fence stil！ held firm； posts and wire taking a tremendous strain。
The fleeing dog halted momentarily。 Again its instinct was offering it a choice。 Flight or those sheep； the latter easy prey； pull one down after another； run them until they were incapable of running any further。 It bounded； heading right towards the flock； then for some inexplicable reason altered course up towards the forest on the horizon。
Jon and Sylvia stood watching until the animal was out of sight； lost to view in those acres of darkness up on the skyline。 Like the sheep； they were tr