Colonel Butler's Wolf

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Shaking his head irritably, Butler scrambled across the Wall, leaving the Irishman in the look-out post, and went forward doubtfully to meet his reinforcements.

'Have you seen Peter Richardson?' McLachlan called as they approached each other. 'Has he told you what's happening?'

'Aye. He's scouting up on Low Crags. You were at the meeting?'

'To start with. But it was pretty much cut-and-dried— Terry's even got the banners ready. I'm sorry, sir

—I ought to have known. But it just never occurred to me.'

'You knew about the Portuguese coming to Ortolanacum?'

McLachlan grimaced. 'Well, Dr Handforth-Jones was talking about his Lusitanians at dinner a couple of nights ago—'

'Oh, we've known about it for ages,' interrupted Polly. 'But what are we going to do? I mean, Peter got very steamed up, but I can't see that they'll do any harm really. Terry's militant, but strictly non-violent—

Daddy would have stopped them otherwise.'

Butler turned to Klobucki. 'And where do you stand in this, young man?'

Klobucki stared at him shrewdly. 'I was going to ask you the same thing, sir. I'm getting the feeling that you aren't quite the simple soldier I took you for last evening. I think I'd sure like to know where you stand before I go any further.'

He jerked his head towards the Wall. 'And I guess I'd like to know who your buddies are.'

Butler met the young American's stare squarely. No lies now—or as few as were necessary: they deserved as much, and like it or not he needed whatever help he could get to hold Boghole Gap.

'It doesn't matter who I am,' he began slowly. 'But you're wrong about the harm they can do, Polly. If they get to Ortolanacum somebody else may die.'

'Die?' Klobucki looked quickly at Polly. 'Who—what the hell is this?'

'Neil Smith died—'

'Neil—?' Klobucki's voice squeaked.

'Now a man called Negreiros may die.' Butler overrode the squeak. 'If your friends get to Ortolanacum dummy2.htm

and Negreiros gets there too, there's a Russian sniper who could make it a front page meeting.'

'Jeeze!' The American whispered. 'A Russian—jeezels— are you sure, Colonel?'

'No, I'm not sure. But I'm damned if I'm going to wait and see. We're trying to stop Negreiros—and in the meantime I'm going to hold this gap for as long as I can. If you'll help me then, I can use your help.'

'Count me in, Colonel sir!' McLachlan turned to Klobucki. 'Come on, Mike—Negreiros may be a 21-carat bastard, but the Commies are taking old Terry for a ride this time. Where's your spirit of adventure?'

He turned on Polly. 'And you've got a stake in it too, Polly my girl! Because if we don't turn 'em back, your Daddy'll be in dead trouble, and it won't do a damn bit of good for him to say he thought it was a peaceful demo.'

'Oh, shut up, Dan—it isn't a joke,' Polly spat. Then she looked at Butler fiercely. 'Is it true?'

'About your father?' There was a good deal of truth in McLachlan's conclusion, as usual. For a quickly mounted bit of wickedness, this smokescreen operation might well do a fair bit of damage to quite a number of reputations.

But Polly shook her head. 'I mean about Neil dying for the same reason?'

Butler gazed at her steadily, searching for something that wasn't wholly dishonourable. But in this web the dishonourable truth and the decent and necessary deceits were now so mixed that all options were equally odious.

'My dear—' he began heavily '—it is because of Neil that all this has happened, that I promise you.'

She gripped the big Ferguson 12-bore convulsively.

'All-right, then—I'll stick with you, Colonel.'

'Bravo!'cried Dan.

'Can it, Dan—put the lid on it!' Klobucki hissed.

'But I'm not joking, Mike,' McLachlan protested vehemently. 'Polly's only running true to form. The Eptons always used to hold this gap back in the old days when the Scots raided England. The question is, where do you stand now—with the fuzz or against them?'

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'It isn't your fight, Mike,' said Polly. 'It's not fair to involve you. And Terry's a friend of yours, anyway.'

'Maybe so, Polly-Anna, maybe so. . .' Klobucki shook his head to himself. 'But then, I don't want to see Terry taken for a ride. And if the Colonel's on the level it sure looks like one time when the fuzz could do with some citizen help—'

'Here comes Peter Richardson,' McLachlan interrupted him.

Richardson was dropping skilfully down the steep slope of Low Crags from level to level, like a Gurkha rifleman. He paused for a moment on a smooth outcrop of rock, shook his head at Butler, and then continued down. So Low Crags were clean—for the moment.