They had been on the trail four days and looked it. An unusual pair these two. She was young, mature in body, but definitely a minor. And definitely in a family way. He was twice her age, tall, and dark faced. His garb was travelworn. A trail-grimed jacket hung loosely over his shoulders. He wore a gaudy bandanna tied to his head to protect himself from the blazing sun. It was dirt-caked from the sporadic dust laden winds that seemed to plague these two as they journeyed on.
The bare yellow hills were bleak this time of year. What vegetation there was had little chance to flourish, because this was sheep country, and these animals cropped grass even with the stand. It was certainly no place for a woman, especially one so young. One about to need help any day, any moment.
Their worldly possessions, a jug of water and a bag containing a few dry provisions, hung to the saddle mount. Sometimes she rode; sometimes she walked. He walked sun up to sun down. Along the trail, from time to time, they met travelers. Men mostly, who, as they rode up, would rein back, look questioningly, wonderingly, then knowingly, but shrug and spur on, leaving them alone to plod on.
This girl didn’t fit into the picture. She had big trusting brown eyes, and pretty brown hair. There were drawn tired lines in her face. She was wilted and weary, but a wholesomeness came through all this. There definitely was a type that would fit in here, but not she.
The trail was tricky with steep climbs and sheer drops. It snaked through groves of prickly oaks and locust trees and skirted thorn bushes. Sometimes partridge and quail exploded from the trail’s edge, startling their animal. He held the reins tightly for fear she would be thrown. His troubled mind wandered constantly over the events of the past months, as he guided the beast that carried his burdened woman. Trail-weary, they spoke very little. Sometimes the silence would be broken by the hoot of an owl. Black-creped buzzards glided overhead waiting to pick the flesh from any bones that had completed their life cycle. Vultures, ugly, awkward, and bare headed, perched in chosen vantage points, hungrily eyeing the terrain for a carrion meal. An occasional deer appeared gracefully etched against a hilltop, wide-eyed and alert for the wildcat and wolves that also roamed in search of prey.
Since they had skirted the last big town about six miles back, the going had been rougher, steeper, and rockier. Almost a constant climb. Shadows were lengthening. The burro plodded more slowly, and just ahead, in the setting rays of the sun, was journey’s end. They saw the cluster of low-roofed houses with their walls bleached bone white from the burning sun, and a short distance ahead the arched gateway to the town. Wearily, they pulled off the trail for a few moments in a suitable resting spot. There was grass for the animal, and it was just far enough from the beaten path for their own privacy. The animal cropped hungrily at the grass and low leaves in the little secluded grove. The girl slide wearily from the saddle, untying the saddle bags that held their food and drink. Finding a soft grassy spot, she rested, awaiting the man. He had circled the campsite, kicking over stones to check for scorpions, and look for signs of jackal and hyena, the marauders of the night. Finding none, he plodded slowly back to the clearing still deep in thought and visibly worried. She had spread a blanket. The water hug and meagre meal were waiting. He dropped footsore and exhausted, more tired than hungry.
She broke the long silence — “We’re almost there. You’re worried. Why?”
His brow furrowed deeply. His eyes were deep-set, pensive. He stopped whittling on a faggot with his razor-sharp knife. “Judge Knott! Judge Knott!” The words came brittily, angrily. Flinging the faggot into the shadows, he bounded to his feet and began pacing, clenching his burly, calloused fists.
“Judge Knott was our problem back home, and still is our problem whenever we meet anyone. What will it be like up ahead?”
He stopped pacing, and looked down at the quiet little brown-eyed girl, so big with child, yet strangely, so serene.
Mary said, “Joseph, the time has come. Let us go into the town and find shelter.”
Judge not, lest ye be judged.
Bud Doyle Writings 
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