Once a little band of robbers,
riding across the valley to the land of Moab, turned from a distance
toward the Nazarenes, circled swiftly around them like hawks,
whistling and calling shrilly to one another. But there was small
booty in that country caravan, and the men who guarded it looked
strong and tough; so the robbers whirled away as swiftly as they
had come.
The Boy had stood close to his father in this moment of danger,
looking on with surprise at the actions of the horsemen.
"What did those riders want?" he asked.
"All we have," answered the man.
"But it is very little," said the Boy. "Nothing but our clothes
and some food for our journey. If they were hungry, why did they
not ask of us?"
The man laughed. "These are not the kind that ask," he said, "they
are the kind that take--what they will and when they can."
"I do not like them," said the Boy. "Their horses were beautiful,
but their faces were hateful--like a jackal that I saw--in the
gulley behind Nazareth one night. His eyes were burning red as
fire. Those men had fires inside of them.
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