As they rode eastward through the rounded hills of Judaea, Selkirk also became aware that this was a populated wilderness. Every mile or so there were signs of the hand of man, either in a Bedouin encampment or in some ruined dwelling so old that its function and history had been lost long before the dawn of recorded history. In the Kalahari each man made his imprint; here he merely followed the footprints of his predecessor. Selkirk was aware of his place in the eternal hierarchy of existence, and his place was not great.
"Dust, Major," it had to be Black who noticed the slight suggestion of a cloud rising in their wake. "It could be Turkish cavalry."
Selkirk looked over his shoulder. The dust rose from the direction of Jerusalem, a single column that spread out above ground and drifted
