Sand Warrior: The Outlaw David

By William M Elliott

About the Book

Sand Warrior: The Outlaw David is a thrilling adventure story that follows the biblical hero David as he duels the fearsome Goliath with his trusty sling, pacifies the troubled King Saul with his music, and changes the course of history.

About the Author

Sand Warrior: The Outlaw David is William M Elliott’s first novel. He lives in Winslow, AZ and owns JLA Contracting, Inc. He recently retired, leaving the business to his son-in-law. This book was edited by his associate Scott Parks, a lifelong newspaper editor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Dec 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890277930

Book preview

Chapter 1

More than the hair, it was the eyes that seized one’s breath.

Oh, the famous head of hair and beard uncut for a lifetime and now white, pillow-cloud white, were both impressive and enormous. From an unintended division, a centerline atop a massive head, full locks of great white hair fell in a face-framing cascade, thick over his shoulders and gathered at the center of his back, girth level, in a loose weave spiraling tightly as it fell, ending in a swinging brush, calf-high above the ground. The white beard and upper lip hair melted off his face and gathered at a mid-waist weave, falling to mid-thigh. And just beneath the brown, sun-weathered forehead, those eyes—Negev black on a moonless night. Alive in a way that taunts mystery and confuses human intelligence. Those eyes missed nothing. The Prophet Samuel’s life story was retold around the cook fires night after night throughout the land. The people recounted how his mother, Hannah, endured constant provocation from her husband’s second wife, who delivered eight sons and daughters and never let Hannah forget she had none. Yet she was her husband’s favorite and he reassured her continually.

Nevertheless, Hannah was childless and longed for motherhood, and at the temple of the Lord at Shiloh, she made a remarkably unselfish petition to God.

Oh, Lord Almighty, if you will only look upon your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant, but give her a son, then I will give him unto the Lord for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head, wept Hannah. The old priest, Eli, saw her praying in the temple, in the spirit, her lips moving yet no sound coming forth. He thought her drunk on wine and to this accusation, she replied, Not so sir, please do not take your servant for a wicked woman for I’ve been praying here out of great anguish and grief.

Recognizing the truth of her statement, he gave her his blessing, saying, Go in peace and may God grant you your wish.

And the Lord had granted Hannah her wish, opening her womb and delivering to her and Elkanah a son and his name meant, Heard of God. When Samuel reached the age of weaning, Hannah kept her promise and presented him at the temple of the Lord at Shiloh. Saying to the priest, Eli, Surely as you live my lord, I am the woman who stood here beside you praying to the Lord. I prayed for this child and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given him over to the Lord.

Then leaving the boy, she and Elkanah returned to their house in Ramah and the Lord blessed Hannah with three more sons and two daughters. But the boy ministered to the Lord in the temple at Shiloh. He was raised by the old priest, Eli.

Throughout his childhood, Samuel found favor with God. He was happy and confident in his relationship with God and passed smoothly through puberty into manhood. His relationship with the Lord progressed graciously with trust and obedience, and he was always aware of God’s favor with him. The transition from journeyman to priesthood evolved smoothly and naturally with the Lord’s approving guidance.

Now in the twilight of a lifetime of service, the Lord has directed him to Bethlehem to perform a service, which previously he had done but once. Bewildered by his presence, the village’s citizens have become a nervous, whispering crowd.

David had never seen his father, Jesse, in such an agitated state. Seated beside the old prophet in the ceremonial chairs at the village pavilion had reduced him to a trembling bundle of tics and nerves—make a choice, anywhere, he would rather be there. But not the boy, something’s up.

My lord, this is my youngest and final…

With gaze unwavering on David’s face, Samuel lifted his hand, fingers spread, silencing the father. Placing both hands on the armrest of his seat, he pushed himself to his feet. With a trace of kindness and benevolence in his eyes, he motioned to the wooden flute tucked in the boy’s belt, and asked, Do you play well?

Sir, he does…

Once more Samuel silenced Jesse in mid-sentence with only the slightest movement of his hand. In silence, peering intently at the boy, he waits for his answer.

So I’m told my lord.

Have you something original you might play…a recent composition, perhaps?

How many hours had he spent out of doors in the hills, among his animal audience, playing and practicing? Blowing softly, slowly, note after deliberate note. Pitch perfect, clearly, lifting heavenwards. Floating gifts to God, while the flock held perfectly still, enraptured. Even the gliding fowl of the air listened silently, reverently.

Now bringing the reed to his lips and with a calm countenance coming from whence he knows not, he begins. Softly, lightly, purposefully, with constrained confidence; the ability to blow ever so slightly building foundation, layering clearly, now building volume—rising, now falling. Eyes closed, he’s elevated to a higher plane, as his fingers float to the notes. Slowly swaying to and fro, aware only of being enveloped and drenched in beautiful sound, he blows a concerto to God. Slowly lifting, raising, now holding, sharp once more, fading now, lowered lightly, returned.

Once more on solid ground, he opened his eyes to a silent stillness and an examination of his soul by eyes older than time itself—now moist and glassy.

Gazing intently, Samuel smiled and in a gentle, emotion-filled voice, said, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard music played so beautifully. Thank you.

Peering at the boy in wonder , he asked, Son, do you know who I am?

Bowing, the boy answered, Yes, my lord, you are Samuel, high priest to the Lord Almighty.

And what is your name, son?

I am David, son of your servant Jesse.

Chapter 2

When had he gotten so old? The years had flown by. It must have happened overnight, yet Samuel knew he had enjoyed a most fortunate life. Remaining in God’s favor throughout his many years as Israel’s ruling judge had not been an easy task, but it was a satisfying one. He truly never cherished anything more than his relationship with the Almighty; and even as a young man, he prophesied and served his people as a priest second only to Eli.

Then, on a black, evil day in his twenty-fifth year on the dark plain at Ebenezer, the sun turned its face from the earth and the Israelites were delivered into the hand of the Philistines. More than thirty thousand Israelis died on the battlefield. Also captured that day was the ark of the living God, which had been brought from the temple at Shiloh to support the Hebrews. The Philistines completely overwhelmed the Israelites. Included among the dead were Eli’s sons, Hophni and Phinehas. When the fat old priest, ninety-eight years old and nearly blind, heard the news, it so overwhelmed him that he fell from his chair at the city gate. He broke his neck and died.

From that day, Samuel had become high priest, ruler and judge of his people. Though a challenging and deeply rewarding career, his relationship with his countrymen was filled on the one hand with exasperation and occasional disgust to love and admiration on the other. Samuel had not lived with his parents since he was a toddler, but he dearly loved them and his brothers and sisters. His mother’s sacrifice helped mold Samuel into a great man and he felt an enormous debt to her that he could never repay. Still, she knew how he felt and a special bond existed between the two of them. In the final years before the Lord took her, he would find her looking at him with love and tenderness. He knew she was very proud of him but he also knew her pain at having completely missed his childhood.

————————————————

Remembering poor old Dagon now made him smile. What ever had he done to deserve losing both his hands and his head? Well, nothing of course. Dagon was an inanimate object made by the adoring hands of his Philistine contingent. He could not care less if he lost fifteen hands and eight heads. Being a statue, he never possessed the ability to care about anything. And yet an entire people might be so collectively stupid to believe an ornament shaped by their own hands might possess the supernatural powers of the living God. Such was the fate of old Dagon, lying broken—handless and headless—on the threshold of his very own temple, which had been constructed in his honor in the Philistine city of Ashdod.

The reason Dagon was in such abused form is he had found himself perched next to the ark of the living God, who was not amused by the presence of this ornament masquerading as a spiritual being. Dagon now bore the result of such displeasure—sans head, sans hands. If the Lord’s show of displeasure had ended there, so might this humorous tale. But apparently while slaughtering Israelites was one thing, antagonizing God was a horse of a different color. So much so, the good citizens of Ashdod began sprouting tumors and dying in droves. Being witnesses to not only the pitiful condition of their headless, limbless Dagon, but also to a deadly plague randomly afflicting their people, the Philistines found themselves in the unenviable possession of an ark belonging to the living God, which they would have been more than happy to return to its rightful owners if they could only find someone with the courage to go near it.

Facing the dilemma of a rapidly decreasing population and feeling the balance of the Philistine citizenry were entitled to their fair share of God’s wrath, the good people of Ashdod shipped the Lord’s ark to the people of Gath, who promptly hot-potatoed it to the seaside city of Ekron, who would have loved to dump it somewhere, but alas, were out of unfortunate Philistine cities willing to house it.

As the Philistine population plunged, its citizens in desperation turned to their priests for an answer. So, at the insistence of said priests, the folks of Ekron hatched a plan to load the ark onto a cart yolked to a couple of cows. The cows were then pointed toward Beth Shemesh, the nearest Jewish settlement. The idea being if the beasts delivered the ark to the Israelites, the plague had been the source of God’s anger and hopefully this act would appease Him. If not, the plague was unrelated and they were back to square one. Everyone concerned was happy and relieved when the cattle trotted straight down the road to the Jewish settlement. An unfortunate aside to this disaster was: God also struck down a great number of Jews who could not resist the temptation of looking directly into the ark. It seemed God frowned on irreverent curiosity.

Twenty years passed before Samuel and the Israelites again subdued the Philistines at Mizpah. Then throughout the remainder of the prophet’s life, the hand of God remained against the Philistines.

Chapter 3

Dagon’s calamity with the ark had amused Samuel for years. Now as he prepared for a well-earned night’s rest in his own bed in his beloved home at Ramah, he thought about the extraordinary young man from Bethlehem whom God had chosen as his anointed to replace Saul.

The Almighty had chosen a boy to become the next king of Israel.

The prophet learned years ago to never second-guess God. Obey his commands and follow his instructions precisely and unquestioningly. Samuel never so much as allowed himself to consider the implausibility of the Lord’s instructions. He was never wrong! Making assumptions and drawing conclusions could risk one’s life. Time and time again, Samuel witnessed men act on obvious assumptions and forfeit their lives in conclusion. God had no patience for being one-upped and certainly not by his own creations.

Samuel was grieved by the entire business with Saul but he knew the lines had been drawn and there was no going back. From the beginning, he had been fond of Saul, the tall Benjamite from Matri’s clan. Yet he felt the Lord’s displeasure with his people, who once again were moving contrary to His wishes. Samuel found himself in the increasingly awkward position of being forced to broker a petition he knew in advance would grieve the Lord.

Those stiff-necked, hard-hearted Jews wanted a king to lead them in battle against Nahash, the Ammonite king. As if the Lord himself were lacking in that respect. The prophet knew that in the same manner a son rejects his father’s guidance, the Lord would be pained by their reliance on anyone but Him. Hadn’t God delivered their fathers from bondage out of Egypt…from the hand of Pharaoh, arguably the most powerful ruler on the face of the earth?

They have rejected me as their king. As they have from the day I brought them up out of Egypt until this day, forsaking me and serving other Gods.

Samuel felt the Lord’s grief.

And now Saul’s failure to adhere to the strict commands of God concerning the complete victory over the army of the Amalek would no doubt be his undoing. The die had been cast. Saul had been one of those young men who made a very good first impression. Being a full head taller than the average man gave him the advantage of making that impression from quite a distance. His dark, handsome features assured the presence of a continuing group of fluttering, giggling young females. He possessed an air of confidence born of circumstance rather than practiced diligence. As a boy, he had joined a social circle of older young men not because of an equal intelligence or maturity, but rather because of physical equality. By Saul’s twelfth year he was taller than all but a few men in the village. So he had a head start on the other boys.

This was the young man a father sent in search of some lost donkeys. While Saul and an assistant searched for this livestock, the Lord instructed Samuel where he might find them and what to do when he did. So while on a mission in the land of Zuph, Saul, looking for a seer who might tell him where to find his father’s errant donkeys, bumped into just such a man. His name was Samuel and he told Saul he knew exactly where to find his livestock, but first there was a more pressing matter to discuss with him. To make a long story short, a young man left home looking for some lost burros and returned as the king of Israel.

As the Lord’s anointed, Saul was given a set of instructions: meet two men at Rachel’s tomb who would have news of the lost donkeys; see three men going up to God at Bethel and receive bread from their hand; join a group of prophets coming down from a high place and the Spirit of the Lord will come upon you, and you will prophesy with them and be turned into another man. And it let be, when these signs come to you, that you do as the occasion demands; for God is with you.—the end result being a transformed man into the presence of God and as so worthy in His eyes.

Still the prophet knew this was a decision the Lord made reluctantly. Before Saul was chosen, God instructed his high priest to assemble the twelve tribes and inform them exactly what a king would demand. He would conscript the service of their sons and daughters, as he so desired, into military service, into indentured servitude, to plow his fields, to serve as weapons makers, personal servants, cooks, bakers. All would be subjected to his every whim. He would take the best of their fields and vineyards and give them to his servants. He would take a tenth of their grain, vintage, and livestock for himself, to do with as he pleased. Their men and maidservants would become his if he so desired…the cream of all things at his beck and call.

Now listen to them; but warn them solemnly and let them know what the king who will reign over them will do. When that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, and the Lord will not answer you in that day.

After their priest had instructed them, the leaders and the people of the twelve tribes still called for a ruler.

Give them a king, The Lord told Samuel.

Samuel performed the anointing of Saul’s head with oil and with a foreboding sense of predictable failure. Samuel’s own relationship with the Lord had developed slowly and steadily over the years. Saul’s, on the other hand, developed overnight. The young king’s inexperience in dealing with God would prove to be a natural liability hard to overcome. The responsibilities of being an instrument of God’s will is a concept of power few could imagine. It is also totally separate from the adulation showered on Saul by an adoring people. His dizzying good fortune would prove to be a double-edged sword of monstrous proportions. In the end, Saul’s pursuit of the adulation of his people and his own personal greed would lead to his disobedience of God’s word. It was the straw destined to break the camel’s back.

The Amalekite had been the enemy of God’s people since the time of Moses. This band of desert marauders pillaged and plundered throughout Palestine for hundreds of years. And so the command to Saul was to destroy the Amalek utterly. This was to be divine judgment—the wrath of the hand of God for the entire world to witness. As instruments of the living God, the Israelites were in no way to enrich themselves. This was to be an expedition to remove every trace of an entire people from the face of the earth. The world would know the power of the living God and the nation of Israel would be established and her enemies would fear His wrath. Every man, woman, and child killed. The earth scorched from the fire of their cities, crops, and livestock.

And just so, the Amalekite were delivered into the hand of the Israelites.

So, when Saul set aside the best of the livestock and spared the life of the Amalekite king, Agag, the divine judgment of the Lord appeared to the rest of the world to be an exceptionally gruesome plunder for profit. And Samuel knew God’s fury with His king.

Marching into the Israelite’s festive camp, Samuel called for Agag. And when he strutted confidently into his presence, the Lord’s high priest instantly separated his head from his shoulders.

Saul was camped at Carmel, constructing a monument in his own honor. He denied any wrongdoing. And so Samuel had asked, What then is the bleating of sheep in my ears? What is the lowing of cattle I hear? Saul, of course, claimed they were only for sacrifices to God, but the Lord knew his heart. The damage was done and could not be undone. His desire to parade the Amalekite king through the streets of the Jewish settlements was more overpowering than his desire to be obedient to God. His lust for the spoils of battle made the Israelites look no better than the Amalekite.

Samuel said, The Lord has rejected you as king over Israel.

After worshiping the Lord with Saul at Gilgal, Samuel never laid eyes on the king again. Then he began to implement God’s plan for the young son of Jesse in Bethlehem, who was to become the king of Israel.

Chapter 4

David was beginning to wish the whole thing never happened. It forever changed his relationships with his brothers. Since the prophet’s visit, Eliab treated him with nothing but contempt. Even Shammah, who always complemented and encouraged him, regarded him in silence now. Only his father, Jesse, seemed pleased when Samuel anointed the boy’s head with oil.

Neither did he understand the secrecy surrounding the entire thing. He had been in the hills with the animals when Abinadab came for him.

But I cannot go and leave the flock unattended.

I will stay with the sheep. Quick now! Hurry! Father waits!

And so he ran the three miles without stopping to rest.

Rounding the corner into the square, he saw the crowd of people. Thinking his father had an accident or had become ill, he ran through the crowd in a panic only to find his father and brothers and the village elders gathered about the old man with the long hair. As he pushed into the crowd, his friend Hereth whispered, David, it’s the prophet Samuel!

Then suddenly he was standing in the opening surrounded by his family and the rest of the village. The old man’s silent appraisal had been somewhat unnerving, but not nearly as much for him as it was for his father and the other village elders.

David had no idea why it was so, but he experienced a calmness in the presence of Samuel, which was hard to explain. And when the prophet asked him to play, David played as he had never played before. When the last note was blown, he knew it was the best he had ever played. Not only was Samuel moved, he had seen tears in his father’s eyes also. Indeed the entire village was stunned into silence.

Later, a village priest named Hereth observed, You have never played so well, not that I’ve heard. You had half the people around in tears. How did you do it?

I have no idea, Hereth. It was as if someone were moving my fingers to the notes and directing my breath.

The village priest consecrated the men and elders while Samuel consecrated David, his father and his brothers. The heifer brought by the prophet was sacrificed to the Lord and all the town feasted. While David and Hereth sat on his uncle’s rooftop watching the festivities, Shammah called him. His father would have a word with him at their home. He entered through the courtyard into the main room to find his father, Samuel and his brothers waiting for him.

Even before he saw his face, David felt Eliab’s anger. His brother’s face was like stone. Only his father was smiling and seemed more relaxed than he had been all day.

David, Samuel would like to speak to you.

Son, do you understand the concept of the Lord’s anointed?

In the manner that you anointed our king Saul? David asked, curious as to where this was leading.

Yes, exactly in that way, answered the prophet.

I believe so. You anointed our king’s head with oil, indicating him to be the Lord’s chosen one.

That’s right. The Almighty directed me to anoint the head of his chosen ruler, Saul; and now he has directed me to anoint the one he has chosen to succeed Saul. That is you, David.

Surely he didn’t say that! Refusing to take the bait, he waited for the punch line to this joke. But no one was smiling. As a matter of fact, Eliab was about as far away from smiling as was humanly possible.

So David asked, Okay what’s the joke? In a flash Eliab lashed out.

It’s no joke, you little fool! Don’t you think this man…

Enough! The prophet’s booming voice produced its desired silence. Then reducing the volume, but in a stern tone of voice, he commanded, You stand in the presence of the Lord’s anointed and you will show the proper respect. And even the more so that he’s your younger brother.

Yes, my lord, a chastised, head-hanging Eliab answered.

And so in wonder surpassing the rationale of all natural things, David, the eighth-born son of Jesse, a Benjamite from the town of Bethlehem became the second of the Lord’s anointed, chosen by the Almighty to be the next king of Israel. It happened all before his eighteenth year.

Now began the legacy of David and the lineage of the Messiah, Christ Jesus, was established.

Chapter 5

David loved the hill country surrounding Bethlehem. Rolling hillsides made for an interesting yet accessible way out of doors. As a child, from the time he was old enough to be outside on his own, he and his friends made the countryside their playground, a place to roam unchecked, which expanded with each year’s maturity. When he reached his eighth year, he was allowed to help his older brothers with the sheep—and a whole new world opened for him. He loved everything about tending livestock but most of all he loved being needed by the animals. His brothers taught him well and when he reached his twelfth year, the shepherd duties were his exclusively. He was very serious about the herd’s care and held himself responsible for the safety of each lamb. He began carrying the sling Shammah made for him two years earlier at the age of ten. By his twelfth year, his accuracy with the sling had become legendary. Not only his father and older brothers but every man and boy in every village within twenty-five miles knew of his accuracy with the sling.

He once put on a demonstration at the village pavilion that the old men still murmured about years later. First from a distance of forty paces, he had cut individual figs from a tree. Then with small pebbles, only as large as a man’s fingertip, he had fired them with such velocity they were embedded—one particular rock an inch deep—in the trunk of a huge oak tree in the square’s center. Such speed and accuracy none of the old men had ever seen. And from a boy not yet fourteen years old! It gave David a sense of confidence as a shepherd well beyond his years, but this was all minor compared to the confident feeling he got from his new partner. The Assyrian nomads did not wish to sell the young Anatolian pup. Bred in the plateau region above Assyria, the dogs were prized as sheep masters. A male pup could grow to as much as a hundred fifty pounds and could run almost as fast as the big cats. And they were fearless in protecting the herds. This four-month-old pup with feet the size of bread loaves had every sheep owner in the area interested. Jesse offered ten choice ewes and two prime rams before old Hiram stepped off in disgust at having been outbid—mumbling he hoped the dog had worms. Never had any fool paid so much for a dog, he said.

David was overjoyed at his good fortune. He named the gray/blue coated pup, Anatolie, and from that day on, wherever David went, so went Anatolie. They were inseparable. They grew up together. By the end of David’s sixteenth year, he was the size of a grown man— healthy, tanned and handsome. Anatolie had grown into a 140 pound sheep master, who was gentle and caring with the flock, even the young lambs. If they strayed from their mothers, Anatolie would push them back toward the herd with his snout. If they strayed far enough, David would hear the bleating and look up to see Anatolie carrying a young lamb gently by the scruff of his neck back to its mother, who would promptly begin grooming the little fellow as she nudged him toward the herd.

He loved camping at night with the flock and his dog. Anatolie would put them down for the night in a meadow beside a stream while David built a cook fire for the hare or fowl he killed earlier. After sharing the food with Anatolie, he would lie back on his blanket and contemplate the heavens. He always felt close to God and communicated with him continually. He often wondered if everyone had the same close relationship with the Almighty. He loved to compose psalms in his head during the day and at night put them to melodies on his flute. He loved playing the harp but the flute was more convenient to carry. He knew he was an excellent musician. He had perfect pitch and although he loved to play, he tried his best not to be arrogant about it. He never lost sight of the fact that it was a gift from God and that talent therefore should be devoted to God. The Lord was pleased with his compositions, he was sure of it.

David’s life as a shepherd gave him definition as a man and the analogy between himself and his flock was the same as between his God and himself. And so it came to be a week after the Lord had delivered him from the paw of the lioness, he began composing a psalm to the Almighty that began:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want;

He makes me to lie down in green pastures;

He leads me beside still waters;

He restores my soul.

Although it would be several years before he completed the psalm, even as a grown man, he was certain the analogy was correct. As a shepherd he had always looked for green pastures and still waters for the herd. It’d been a lack of green pastures and still waters that led to the fight with the lion pride.

————————————————

The drought, lasting two years now, had been severe. The pasture grass that hadn’t dried up and died had been severely over-grazed. The streams and tributaries leading to the river Jordan were either dry or had become standing pools of stagnant water, which all of God’s creatures sought to relieve the never-ending thirst that always accompanies a drought. The sun and lack of rain wilted the vegetation and it became more and more difficult to locate grazing lands. Soon the streams around Bethlehem were dry and the grass was grazed down to ground level. David knew the sheep would begin dying without food and water.

He consulted his father Jesse. He and Anatolie could move the herd to the natural springs near Adullam. Due to the wilderness location, they would very likely have the springs and surrounding meadows to themselves. Consequently, as the other village flocks dwindled, theirs would prosper and grow. And if he hadn’t returned within a couple of weeks, Jesse could send Eliab or Shammah with additional staples. His father protested. David had never traveled that far into the wilderness alone. But Anatolie would be with him. The dog was worth two men. Jesse could not argue that.

So they loaded a donkey with bread, cheese, dried mutton, water jugs, figs and dates, plus his bedding, a flute, three knives, two lances, his bow and aquiver of arrows, a heavy blade for cutting firewood and digging, and flint for fire starting.

As David and Anatolie were about to set out on the three-day journey to the springs, Jesse suddenly threw his arms around him and hugged him.

Jesse had tears in his eyes when he said, Be very careful my son. If for some reason the springs are dry, bring the herd straight back. In no longer than two weeks I will send one of your brothers with some more supplies. Avoid men and beasts alike so that you might return safely to your family. Then he knelt and scratched both sides of Anatolie’s head. You bring David back to me.

When David saw his father’s tears, he said, Father do not worry yourself. We will be fine.

I know you will. I’m just so very proud of you. You’ve grown up to be a fine man.

As he and Anatolie started the herd, he felt he’d never been happier. And he could tell Anatolie felt the same as he ran from one side of the herd to the other, jumping into the air looking at David, barking gently from time to time.

The young shepherd knew it was important to move quickly. A day’s march to the nearest water lay ahead and there might be several flocks watering there. He planned to make no mention of his destination, which he knew would be difficult if any of the local shepherds were about. A half-mile before they reached the stream, the herd sensed the water and broke into a collective sprint. David was relieved to find the area devoid of any other stock. The stream had been reduced to a trickle but it was water enough for the one hundred sheep in his herd. He and Anatolie had moved them over ten miles and they were all exhausted. After watering, they traveled downstream a half mile to a patch of pasture with a little grass and made camp. After a meal of bread, cheese, and mutton for him and mutton only for Anatolie, he fell straight to sleep. Having covered excellent distance the day before, David felt if he and Anatolie pushed they might make the springs before dark. There would be no water from here to there. Let’s move quickly, Anatolie. We must travel far before night falls.

And so they had. Late in the day, as groups of two or three sheep peeled to the side to rest, Anatolie would bark and nip at them, moving them back together, continually moving northeast. David watered the dog and himself several times from the jugs. Each time the thirsty sheep crowded close by.

Don't allow them to stop, boy. Make them move. There’ll be no water for them tonight otherwise.

Late in the afternoon, the foothills could be seen in the distance. As the elevation began to rise, the vegetation became healthier and more abundant, and the herd at first only walked faster, then trotted and finally sprinted to the springs. David allowed them to water for only a quarter of an hour. He and the dog moved them back from the pool so none would bloat. When the sheep sensed access to water would be denied, they began grazing, then shading. As night fell the shepherd and his partner settled in for a well-deserved meal—again bread, cheese and mutton. And tonight they would enjoy a fire-lit campsite.

Tomorrow we will find some nice shaded high ground for a camp. Then we’ll put some wool and some weight on this bunch. That’s a good boy! he said, scratching behind his partner’s ears. He then pulled out his flute and with a sweet melody put the flock down. The following morning on the opposite side of the pool, he found sign of the pride. From the tracks and droppings, it appeared to be four adult cats and two cubs or, maybe, one grown male and three lionesses or four females. He wasn’t sure. He had studied lion signs twice before—found both times while he was with the old hunter, Joaquin. The old man took the time to point out the various paw sizes, the size differences between male and female cats, cub paw prints and the difference between adult and cub droppings. Also the body shapes and the ‘scratchings.’ Joaquin instructed him to approach the sign carefully so as not to disturb or distort the information to be gleaned, especially at the water’s edge, where the story might be plainly read.

These droppings were dry enough; probably three or four days old, and clear paw prints, now encrusted, confirmed the tale. It looked like they had spent the night and probably the following day, watering. Holed up, waiting to ambush some unsuspecting dinner-to-be, and it appeared they had no luck. David had not come across any half-eaten carcasses or any traces of one. Still it was too good of a water hole. They’d be back.

David raised fingers to the corners of his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. In a moment, here came Anatolie at a dead sprint. Just watching that long graceful stride reinstilled confidence and courage in his master. Fifty paces from the scene, the dog’s whole demeanor changed. He looked to both sides and slowed to a cautious trot. David saw his ears drop and the hair stood on the back of his neck as he slid into fight mode. He sniffed the air as he glanced sharply in every direction as he approached—tense, ready. He loves to fight, David thought proudly.

You’re a warrior, aren’t you, boy? What you think? he asked as the dog worked the scene—sniffing the tracks, busting open the droppings with his paw to check moisture content— a natural born hunter and tracker if ever there was one. Sniffing the air, he looked into the distance in every direction before relaxing somewhat after understanding that the fight will not take place in the next few moments. He finally stood still a few paces from his owner and looked up into his face, awaiting instructions; a faithful soldier ready for battle. David walked to him and knelt down before saying,

They will be back, won’t they, my friend?

No doubt about it, he seemed to say to his master.

Let them come. If it’s a fight they want, we will accommodate them. But we’ll not provide one bit of their dinner. Anatolie barked twice in confirmation, and they strode confidently and calmly back to the flock.

Chapter 6

David and Anatolie moved the herd a couple miles downstream from the main pool to a point where the stream widened into a flat meadow and flowed at an undetectable current at the base of a hill covered with knee-high and healthy grass. At the crest, a rock overhang dipped into a crescent semicircle forming a natural three-sided enclosure, which would contain and protect the herd during the night. David could patrol and scout from the ledge above while Anatolie held the herd in the canyon below. The rock ledge was high enough to serve as a lookout, yet low enough to traverse quickly on the descent and be among the sheep in a flash.

David felt sure the lions might return by nightfall. Joaquin, who lived in a lean-to in the hills outside of Bethlehem, told him many stories about cats, wolves and bears. Whenever roving predators attacked a herd, all sheep farmers would enlist the aid of the old tracker and his dogs. For years he had run down all kinds of sheep thieves with his dogs. The most common predators were wolves and jackals, and packs of wild dogs. Large cats — such as lions hunting in prides, panthers working alone or lightning-fast cheetahs hunting in pairs – were sometimes the culprits. The old man had plenty of stories about them all and he had hides, skulls, claws, and teeth that proved those tales. David enjoyed his company and the feeling was mutual. Joaquin even offered his entire pack of hunters for Anatolie anytime David was ready to trade—five for one.

Joaquin told him the females do all the work while hunting in a pride. The male’s sole chore was to breed and beat off the other young males who might be after his job. He told David that it looked like a job worth fighting for and they laughed at the thought.

Joaquin said the lions liked to hunt at night, especially if a man was around. He advised that campfires would help ward off the animals. So that night, David set two—one on each end of the ledge above the flock. He gathered enough wood to last through the night and settled down with his flute and played gentle melodies so they would remain calm and rest. The night proved uneventful and just before daybreak he’d fallen asleep. He awoke at midmorning to see Anatolie had moved the sheep to the water’s edge where some drank and others grazed the bank. The remainder lay in the grass under a couple of larger oak trees. Anatolie moved from one group to another, head lifted, watching, keeping them together. From David’s vantage point, it was a pleasant sight watching the flock going, unhurried and unafraid, about their business under the dog’s ever-watchful eye. Before joining them, David walked down the backside of the hill and converged on the stream a short distance from its origin then followed it back to the pool, checking for fresh sign. When he reached the pool, he walked around the side to where he had cut the sign the day before. He could find nothing new. He walked back down the stream checking the other side as he went. Before he caught sight of the herd, he knew the pride had not yet returned. He heard Anatolie yelp and knew he had been discovered—there was no way of creeping up on that one. He could detect a scent a half a mile away. As he walked into the meadow, the dog yelped and waded the creek at a trot to see his best friend.

So, are you going to let me sleep late every day? You’re going to spoil me, you know. He slapped his chest a couple of times and the dog stood on his hind legs with his front paws on David’s chest.

I think I’ve finally grown taller than you. You should be careful because next—I’m going to outrun you!

This is a game they played for years now. He paused after he says next. The first sound out his mouth is a signal to race. David is always in the lead for three steps but never after five, and then, forget it, the dog runs away with it. After Anatolie’s lopsided victory, they crossed the stream and joined the sheep.

You stay here and hold them together, boy; I’ll see if we have any company. If you need me, make some noise, and I’ll come on the run. When I return, we will catch some fish for dinner.

Climbing back to camp for his bow and arrows, he used the elevation for a thorough scout in each direction before walking down the hill heading westerly. Mount Gilboa rose above the hills in the distance. He had been to this country only once when he and Eliab brought the herd there after their area had dried up two summers ago.

Eliab told David, As we travel, mark the points of interest in your mind. You never know when you might need to return alone. As we move, I will point out certain landmarks but remember things on your own. Sites that catch your attention, which you feel sure you’ll remember.

He followed this advice and it made this trip easy—markings appearing exactly as he remembered them. During the previous trip, being the younger brother and low man on the pole, he was made to remain with the herd while Eliab went off sightseeing every day. They held the flock there for almost a month without David seeing any of the surrounding countryside. Due to the immediate threat of marauding lions, he knew not to stray too far, but nothing was going to prevent him from taking a quick look, regardless.

Being the youngest of eight boys, David learned early that a happy life meant escaping the house and his older brother’s constant harassment. Every morning as quickly as he could manage breakfast, he was out the door and returned only when hunger brought him to that desperate risk—or at his father’s bidding, one of the two. For his home long ago ceased to be a place of refuge. As soon as he was old enough to be pestered by a house full of older brothers, life outdoors became exceedingly preferable to life indoors. That overall condition hatched the beginning of a life out of doors, out of town, out in the hills with a flock, which both needed and depended on him daily. And after Anatolie materialized—well, he guessed he needed a home but he really didn’t know what for.

A mile out from the springs, he cut the original sign indicating four adult cats and two cubs had entered and exited the freshwater pool on the same trail. A subsequent circling in a wide arc yielded no other trace of the lion pride. Having satisfied himself they’d come six or seven days ago and left four or five days later, he headed back toward camp looking forward to some cool-water fishing with his partner.

Walking up the backside of the hill, he surveyed the stream and meadow from the hillcrest. Being mid-day, Anatolie had assembled the sheep under the oaks in the meadow. They were all calmly lying about in the shade as the dog walked to the water’s edge surveying the scene across the stream before ambling back to the shade, sniffing the ground, raising his head high, peering into the distance. There was an undeniable nobility about Anatolie that never failed to impress his owner. Anatolie was a well-bred animal of a species in which bloodline travels a long distance in defining character.

David grabbed the seining net and jogged down to the stream. Anatolie loped out to meet him. When he saw the net, he jumped about then dashed toward the water.

Don’t you jump in there and scare all them away before we place the snare! Anatolie came to a dead halt and looked back over shoulder as if to say, Do I look that stupid? Or have you only forgotten how many times we’ve done this? And after all, exactly who is it that spirits all the little fishes into your sneaky little net? Because we both know I’m quick enough to catch all the fish I can eat without the aid of a net—that’s for your portion of the dinner.

Okay, had I known you were so thin-skinned, I would have remained silent, David replied in answer to that look the dog gives him. But he knew the dog was dying to jump into that stream. And so was he. As quickly as possible, he stretched the net from one side of the creek to the other and with a stone pounded the stakes attached to each end into the soft mud of the creek bank. Then both he and the dog raced upstream and jumped in. The water felt so good as the two of them rolled around splashing each other, with Anatolie barking uncontrollably. David floated on his back, holding a tree root while the current pulled his frame straight as the dog stood in the water, which flowed just under his stomach, barking. He was ready to fish.

You’re right. The sooner we catch them, the sooner we eat them.

Tolie jumped from one side of the stream to the other—barking and splashing—moving slowly toward the net. David walked down the center of the stream, splashing some, but was basically content to let the dog work the fish into the net. When they had traveled the length of the creek to the net, David jumped to the opposite bank saying,Hold them, boy!

He pulled the stake up and, holding the net low, entered the water and crossed quickly the other side. At the water’s edge he flung the net upon the bank as a couple of dozen fish of all sizes flopped on the ground or got hung up in the net. David removed four large brim and threw them further up on the grass.

Come on, boy, help me put the others back for later.

The dog scooted all the stragglers back toward the water with his snout. Next to herding fish into the net, this is the second most fun for him. Just as he bent down to give an almost keeper-sized brim a push, the fish flopped right up into his face and startled the dog so that he jumped three feet straight into the air barking. It looked so funny that David collapsed in a fit of laughter while Anatolie backed up and stood watching him roll on the ground as if he’d been overcome by red-faced apoplectic fit.

After finally gaining some control, he said, You’re right, you’re right. It wasn’t that funny. And promptly doubled over again. The dog, refusing to indulge any more of this foolishness, brought it all to a halt with a series of sharp barks.

Sorry, sorry. You’re right. I’ve overreacting once again. OK, huh? Let’s see whose turn is it to clean these fish? Right again, it is mine.

David’s shoulders shook with laughter as he turned his back on his friend with the hurt feelings and gathered the four fish from the grass. He dropped them into the net and walked up the hill with the entire bundle, suppressing the giggles as he went. Once in camp he began cleaning detail. First the catfish, he gutted and cut the fins off, then pulling the skin back enough to get a hold, he simultaneously pulls and lifts the skin back to the tail. After cleaning and washing both, he threw them into an empty water jug. Then he removed the heads, tails and fins and scraped the scales off the brim before filleting each of them. After a washing, they joined their skinned catfish counterparts in the jug, and awaited the fire.

You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a more delicious meal of fish in my life. Since this prompted no immediate response, in a more direct manner he said, Have you an opinion on that statement, my friend?

Tolie continued gazing down at the sheep below.

Come on now, surely your feelings are not still bruised over the fish incident, are they? Knowing full well that’s precisely the problem, he gets to his feet, steps over and kneels beside his friend and scratches him behind the ear. Anatolie gives him a look, which says, I guess that’s as close as I’ll get to a formal apology, so I accept. But it better not happen again. David spent the afternoon gathering firewood and distributing it in equal portions to each side of the ledge where fires would burn throughout the night to ward off an attack by lions—if they return. After working throughout the afternoon, he had gathered enough wood to keep the fire burning for three or four nights.

Sure enough it lasted four nights and on the fifth day it was beginning to look as if the lions were gone for good. David had been sleeping early in the evening, which was hard to do because it was still very hot. He would awaken in time to refuel the fires and let Anatolie know he was awake so he could lie down in the open entrance between the world and the herd— exactly where he most wanted to be.

So on the afternoon of the fifth day, he gathered more wood to fuel the fires, thinking Better safe than sorry. But he found it difficult to maintain a high level of concern night after night. An accumulated lack of sleep was taking its toll. So he was not surprised when he was late waking up that night. The half-full moon had risen almost to mid-sky before he woke sharply with a full bladder. Relieving himself at the edge of camp, he noticed both fires were low, especially the one on the western ledge. So picking up the steel-pointed javelin he used for stirring the coals, he walked quickly onto the ledge where he found a bed of glowing red coals and no flame. Picking up three fat pieces of fuel, he dropped them on to the coals and jumped backward to keep from being burned by spraying sparks. As he did; he saw something move down below the ledge, to the left, just off the base of the rocks below.

He stepped around the fire to the edge of the overhang. Everything was still and not a sound was heard. But something didn’t seem right. David stood still as the fire began lighting the canyon floor. Nothing moved other than the flickering light on the ground below. At that instant he realized there was not a sound to be heard—no night sounds—insects, croaking frogs from the meadow, breeze blowing, nothing.

With a start, he realized the sheep were on their feet against the base directly below him, frozen. And through the illumination of firelight he now saw Anatolie lying prone on the ground.

He was tense, ready to fly, eyes locked on something where he had seen the movement.

When he stepped closer to the edge to look, the firelight illuminated the crouching lioness. She was stretched, stomach flat on the ground, eyes locked on the herd. With a low guttural growl, she rose several inches off the ground and moved a half step closer. Tense as a bowstring, she growled and sprang at the same time. Long and lean-bodied, she flew a third of the way with her opening jump. In the same instant she pounced, David saw a flash in his peripheral vision from the right side—no sound other than the slap of big flat feet hitting the soft earth and the simultaneous pushing of sand from another leap. Frozen on the ledge above, he saw a white blur streaking toward the pouncing cat. The sound of the collision was like an explosion in the night, blowing everything beneath him into larger-than-life movement. Anatolie hit the cat at a dead sprint and ran right through her, lifting the lioness into the air and sending her crashing into the rocky ledge directly below. The sheep, as if they were one large organ, shifted to the other side of the canyon wall. She stood now, looking drunk. Her hind legs dropped her rear end onto the ground, leaving her standing on her front two feet with her rump, apparently dead, on the ground behind her.

Anatolie struggled to his feet and moved toward the herd growling on three legs. He held one front leg off the ground. It hung bent and useless. Then the big cat pierced the night with a growl so loud and terrifying it left David frozen with every hair standing on end. He heard the cat streaking toward the herd before actually seeing her. In a flash she hit the sheep and disappeared into the flock.

Now, he watched Anatolie soar as if with wings—for surely the leap covered thirty paces—and land right in the middle of flock like a vengeance from heaven, coming down to even the score. He growled so loud and so menacingly, the sound could only have originated in the very depths of his soul and with an anger born of retribution so blatant the night cannot curtail it. It shook the very earth with indignation; and he descends like the hand of God falling on the lion. With spit flying and jaws of death stretched wider than earthly possible, the dog landed in the center of the lion’s back and those jaws clamped onto the back of the beast’s neck.

The lion’s scream of pain detonated the night.

Then from the black darkness at the center of the enclosure came another beast. She hit the herd with a ‘thud’ as David jumped from the ledge ten feet up. He landed rolling and popped up in time to see her dragging a bleating lamb into the bush. In a second he’s in pursuit, aware only of the disappearing lion and the sound of Anatolie’s rage being poured onto the other beast. He crashed into the darkness, running at a dead sprint following the sound ahead of him. The lion, dragging the bleating lamb, created a sound more vivid than a vision itself.

Twenty paces into the thicket, the boy tripped and took flight and fell, losing both his spear and his wind. When he slid into a rock headfirst, for an instant, felt he was about to lose consciousness. He shook his head, trying to gather his wits as he ran his hand frantically over the ground trying to locate his spear in the darkness. As he patted the ground, he realized that the sound created by his moving hands was amplified by the utterly black, sightless night. Blind! And if he didn’t find that spear, he was going to die. Jerking his hand over the ground, the spear point pierced the side of his hand. Almost at the same instant, just to his left, David heard the bleating of the lamb coming from six or eight feet away. He pointed the spear in the direction of the crashing brush just in time to see the greenish/yellow eyes and gleaming white teeth.

The vibration of the spear in his hand felt as if he’d rammed a rock with it. A sharp yelp came from the lion at the same instant, then the brush crashed just at his feet and a heavy slicing blow crossed his ankle. He spotted a dark rolling shape on the ground to his left and raised the spear above his head with both hands on the shaft. He felt it slide easily through soft flesh as the lioness screamed in pain. Then came two gentle whimpers, one following the other, and with a ragged expulsion of breath into the silent night, she died.

Afterward there was only the sound of his breath, and then he heard a startling movement in the brush directly ahead of him and a soft—baah! —as a white shape approached. Standing, he now saw the light of the fires behind him. He picked up the lamb and carried it across his shoulders out of the thicket and toward the sound of the bleating herd.

As he left the thicket, he saw the dog standing on three legs in front of the herd. One front leg was lifted at an angle and hung just above the ground. He was streaked with blood. He panted hard with his mouth open, tongue hanging out, head hanging low. As he watched David approach, he swayed unsteadily. The boy saw a gash—laid wide open—across the bridge of his snout. His eyes were glassy, and slobber drooled from his mouth onto the dust at his