Chapter 51

 A New Friend

          At midnight, Arnon cautiously exited the shop looking for his getaway horse and crime partners. 

          They were gone! 

          Where were those brave lookouts that were supposed to help him escape?  Where was Myra? 

          Panic stricken, he stood frozen to the spot, clutching the stolen money, wondering which way to go. 

          Suddenly, he saw a man slowly approaching on horseback.  He was sure it was the owner.  Arnon quickly backed into the doorway, then carefully peered around the alcove.  He was shocked—the man looked familiar; like one of the merchants who befriended him when he first came to Galilee.  Arnon risked another look to make sure.  He was almost positive—it was Debron!  Guilt compounded. 

          As the man dismounted his horse and headed toward the door, Arnon dashed behind the building and began running.  His shoulder satchel, which held most of the money, along with the bag tied to his belt, were heavy—a challenge to a fast pace.  The man saw him and yelled; then remounted his horse in hot pursuit. 

          But Arnon dodged in and out of alleyways and lost him.  It was a miracle he wasn’t caught.

          For miles, he ran breathlessly, in and out of narrow winding paths, down back roads, then to the foothills toward the mountain range.

          On he went, into the night, finding himself climbing the hills of Nazareth.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

          Sweaty and overheated, Arnon sat on the stone wall of a well, panting with exhaustion.  Unleashing his satchel, it plunged to the ground while he tried getting his breath.

           Finally, he got up and angled over to a great Cypress tree, looking for something with which to draw a drink of water and splash his dusty, red-hot face with cool liquid.  Finding nothing, he sat on the well again.

          “O–h–h–h . . .” he sighed. 

          Too tired to care about anything, he felt himself sliding from the rock wall onto the soft green grass.  Rolling onto his stomach, he stretched out and sighed again.

          After a few moments of exhaustive breathing, he turned on his back.  Remorse for his thievery welled up in him.  Why had he let Myra override his inner conscience?  He wondered if the merchant who surprised him as he escaped was indeed Debron.  And could he identify him? 

          Looking into the pitch-black sky housing a million twinkling stars, he searched out their wonder and asked forgiveness.  The magnificent heavens were always there, faithful to reassure him that someday he would find answers to the questions he always posed on such occasions.

          Strangely, this time he did not feel alone.  He felt the Master’s presence—he could see His smiling face and His kind eyes looking deep into His soul.  As before, there was no accusation in His countenance—only love and acceptance.  Arnon longed to hear Jesus’ voice once more—to hear His compelling words of love and life.  He wished he could start his life over with this new Master, the One who had given him hope. 

          Arnon’s eyes drooped sleepily.  He felt weary—oh, so weary.  Exhaustion was a better word, and his body succumbed to it.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

          “Young man.  Are you all right?”

          Arnon felt someone gently shaking him, awakening him from a deep sleep.

          He turned over and answered slowly, “Y-e-s . . . I’m all right.  I guess I must have dozed off . . .”