"She won't go voluntarily," the old man said frankly. "We will have to pretend we are all going to the hills. After that—" he nodded slowly, "—the problem is yours."
"I will take care of her, Joseph," Wolf had promised, and the sun-browned farmer had clasped his hand tightly in a mute gesture of hopefulness.
"You understand—a man and his daughter—you understand?"
More than you probably know, Joseph.
"Yes," he said aloud. "I think I understand."
And then came the word that the Administrator's procession was in sight.
Wolf looked at his five dependables. He passed each face slowly, as if he had never seen them before. They were young, and old, and middle-aged. They were dark from the hours in the sun, strong from the work that pulled their muscles for the long hours each day. They smiled at him, grimly, nervous, but they were good men.
The faces of freedom, Wolf thought. These are the faces and the bodies of freedom.
Then it was time.