Michaela was transfixed by the pistol.  The bore of the muzzle seemed to expand until it filled her entire field of vision, the blackness within yawning at her hugely.

     She tried to pull her eyes from the sight.  She knew she should be studying the stranger who had accosted them—observing and memorizing every detail of his appearance, so that later she could identify him, in case . . .

     But no, her mind refused to go past that point.

     "We don't want any trouble," Dorothy said suddenly.   The sound of her voice served to break Michaela's paralysis.   Daring to take her eyes from the threat before her, Michaela looked at her friend.  Dorothy was pale, but she sat ramrod straight and stared at the man unflinchingly.  Michaela felt a flash of admiration for Dorothy's bravery.

     The man didn't speak, but continued to hold the gun on them steadily.

     Michaela  looked at him more closely.   His features were hard to discern; a wide-brimmed hat shadowed his eyes, and  his mouth and jaw were obscured by a dark, unkempt beard.  He wore clothing common to any farmer or miner—faded pants and sweat-stained shirt, covered by a heavy wool coat streaked with dust.   A dingy bandanna was knotted carelessly around his neck.

     "If it's money you want, you're welcome to whatever we got," Dorothy tried again.  "There's not much, but you can take it all.  Just—just let my friend and me pass."

     Still he was silent.

     "If we're trespassin' on your land, we're sorry," Dorothy said.  "We had no choice—there was a mudslide blockin' the road.  You must have seen it—“

     "Get down," the stranger said, gesturing with the gun.  "Both of ya.  Do it slow."

     Michaela and Dorothy glanced at each other fleetingly, then carefully climbed down from their horses.

     "Move over there," the man instructed, gesturing toward their left.  Slowly they obeyed.

     "Not so close!" he said sharply.  "Split up."  Eyeing him warily, the women widened the distance between them.

     "Please," Michaela began, her voice sounding weak in her ears.  "I'm a doctor—I need to get to town.  There are people who need my help."

     "I know who you are," he said roughly.  "You and that dirty Indian-lover ya married."

     At his mention of Sully, Michaela felt the blood freeze in her veins.  This was no accident—no random hold-up.  This man had come after them deliberately.  Had he been at the homestead, watching them, spying on them, waiting till she and Dorothy left and then following them to this deserted spot?  Oh my God! She thought suddenly.   Had he seen Sully?  Had he HURT him?

     "I'm asking you again," she repeated with a boldness she didn't feel, trying to disguise the frantic thoughts going through her mind.   "There are people in town who are injured—“

     "And whose fault is that?" he said challengingly.

     "I—I don't know what you mean," she lied.

     "Where's Byron Sully?" he demanded.

     At his question, Michaela felt almost light-headed with relief. So he hadn't seen Sully.  Sully's safe, she rejoiced.  Oh thank God, Sully's still safe.

     Trying to control her trembling, Michaela lifted her chin and said clearly, "My husband is dead."

     "Yer lyin'."

     "No—I'm telling the truth.  He fell from a cliff--"

     "Save it," he cut her off.  "Barkeep at the saloon told us all about it—Byron Sully's been hidin' out in the woods fer months, supplyin' dynamite to the Indians.  He's probably been lootin' and burnin' right along with 'em!"

     "I swear to you that's not true," Michaela insisted.  "My husband is gone."

     "He's 'gone' all right—gone to ground in the woods like the coward he is!  Well it's about time he paid for everythin' he's done."

     "Whatever you may think of Sully, he can't hurt you or anyone—he's dead," Dorothy spoke up.

     The stranger glanced toward her.  "Yeah?  Well maybe he is, and maybe he ain't.  Don't matter—I know how to make him pay, one way or the other."

     "What do you mean?"  Michaela asked shakily.

     He grinned darkly.  "Just like it says in the Bible—an eye for an eye," he said, cocking the pistol and pointing it at her heart.

     Instinctively Michaela squeezed her eyes shut.  Images of her family crowded into her mind.   She thought of Katie, so tiny and perfect and new, moments after her birth.  She pictured Brian, playing baseball with Anthony.  She saw Matthew laughing with Ingrid, stealing kisses in the barn.  And she remembered Colleen's face during the influenza epidemic, when she said she wanted to be a doctor like Michaela someday.

     Superimposed over all the rest, she saw Sully.  His face filled her consciousness, his voice whispered lovingly in her ear.  Don't be afraid, he said.  I'm with you.

     And suddenly it was as if he *was* there.  She could almost feel his warm, reassuring presence, hear his voice, smell his scent.  In that moment, her fear left her.

     "SULLY!" she cried out to him in her mind with all her might.  "I LOVE—“

     The gun exploded with a deafening roar.