Sully and Cloud Dancing reined the horses to a stop just inside the tree line bordering the far side of the meadow outside town.  They surveyed the vista before them:  the deserted schoolhouse to their far left,  the church with its small cemetery off to their right, and, straight ahead beyond the bridge, a rough wooden stockade imprisoning several Indian women and children and a few old men, next to the barrier of army tents between them and the clinic.

     "It ain't safe for you to go any farther," Sully said to Cloud Dancing.  "We'll go on alone from here."

     "You will be spotted as soon as you cross the meadow," Cloud Dancing reminded him.

     "Like I said, it don't matter," Sully said.  "I'm gonna give 'em what they want—I'm turnin' myself in.  But they ain't takin' me till Michaela—“ he hesitated, his voice quivering slightly.  "Till Michaela gets well.  I ain't leavin' her."

     "Sully, how can you stop them from lockin' you up?" Dorothy asked in distress.

     "No need for you worry about it, Dorothy," he said reassuringly.  "You just concentrate on gettin' better."

     "But Dorothy is right," Cloud Dancing said, equally concerned.

     "I'll find a way," Sully replied.  "I ain't leavin' Michaela," he said with finality.

     Cloud Dancing nodded, recognizing that Sully's mind was set.

     "How will I get a message to you, after I speak with Black Moon?" Cloud Dancing asked.

     Sully considered the problem.  "I'll have Matthew meet you at the cave tonight," he said after a moment.  "You can give him the information, and he'll bring it back here to me."

     "I will be eager to hear of Michaela's condition," Cloud Dancing said.

      "I'll make sure Matthew gives you any news," Sully answered.

     He was silent a moment and then said, "Cloud Dancin', I need to ask you two more favors."

     "You know I will do anything for you that I can," his friend replied.

     "At the homestead, there's a lady—a friend—of mine and Michaela's, waitin' to hear if I found Michaela and how she is," he said.  After a moment's hesitation he added, "Fact is, she's family—she's my aunt."

     Dorothy's eyes widened in amazement.  Cloud Dancing looked interested, but not totally surprised.  Sully wondered briefly if the spirits had told his "brother" more than he had let on.

         "How she came to Colorado Springs and how we met, is a long story for another time," Sully went on.  "But for right now, she's real worried.  If it's safe, could you go to her and tell her what's happened?  And—that I won't be comin' back for a while?  I've told her all about you, so she'll know who you are.  Her name is Rosalind Sutcliffe—Lady Rosalind Sutcliffe."

     "I will go to her now," Cloud Dancing promised.  "What else do you need me to do?"

     Sully stared at him levelly.  "I think you know," he said.

     "I will ask the spirits to help in Michaela's healing," Cloud Dancing said quietly, reading what was in Sully's heart.  "I will ask for their help for you also—to protect you from the army, and to give you strength."

     "Thank you, my brother," Sully said, a wealth of emotion implicit in his few simple words.

     They grasped hands again, and Cloud Dancing slid down from Dorothy's horse.
 
     "Will you be all right, Dorothy?" Cloud Dancing asked, concerned for her condition.

     "It's just a short way—I can make it," Dorothy assured him.  "Please be careful," she added.

     "I will," Cloud Dancing told her.  He looked up at Sully.  "Be strong," he said, and  returned the way they had come.

     Sully turned to Dorothy.  "Let's go," he said.

     Dorothy looked at him searchingly.  "Sully—are you sure?"

     He returned her gaze steadily.  "If it was Cloud Dancin' who was hurt, what would you do?" he asked.

     Dorothy gave him a brief smile of understanding.  "The same," she admitted.

     Sully reached over and squeezed her hand.  "You're a brave lady Dorothy—and a good friend," he said gently.  "Are you ready?"

     She nodded, and spurring their horses, they began the most formidable part of their journey.

* * * * * * * * * *

     The army private lounged in a chair outside of Sgt. McKay's tent.  On a small, scarred table in front of him lay a small stack of wanted posters.  Sully's visage looked up at him from under the legend:  $1000 REWARD"—and at the bottom, "Byron Sully:  Wanted for Treason and Murder."

     The private was sleepy and bored.  In the wake of the morning's attack on the town, the sergeant had sent most of the men up into the hills in search of the renegades—and Byron Sully.  For weeks the scuttlebutt had been that Sully was dead—killed in a fall from a cliff after murdering Sgt. O'Conner.  The army's repeated forays into the hills to find Sully had yielded nothing.  Even his own wife—the doctor—hadn't been able to find him—or so she claimed.

    But the Gold Nugget owner—and self-proclaimed sheriff—had called that popular notion into question.  He seemed to be convinced that Sully was very much alive, and had been hiding out in the woods all this time, fueling the Indians' raids with dynamite stolen from the army.

    The private didn't know whether to believe Hank Lawson's opinion or not—but he knew that he'd much rather be out in the woods, tracking down fugitives, than stuck here in the nearly deserted army camp.

    With nothing else to do but sit outside his commander's tent, the private pulled his cap down lower on his brow and slid further down in his seat, figuring to grab a little shut-eye.   Drowsy as he was, he almost didn't see the two riders crossing the meadow toward the bridge.  He gave them only a cursory glance; townspeople frequently passed back and forth and he had long since stopped giving them much notice.

    As he glanced away from the approaching riders, his eye fell on the picture of Byron Sully.  Something about Sully's features—his face, maybe, or the length of his hair—made the private look up sharply.  The two riders—a man and a woman—had almost reached the bridge.  The man was in the lead.  His long, golden-brown hair streamed back in the wind.   He was carrying a passenger, who was grasped close to his chest as if sick or wounded.

    As the man drew closer, the private stared in disbelief.  It was Byron Sully—alive and in the flesh!   Stupefied, the private just stood gawking for a moment as Sully crossed the bridge.   Sgt. McKay had ordered most of the men to flush this traitor out of the woods—yet here he came, big as life, riding into town like he didn't have the slightest clue he was a wanted man.

    Abruptly coming to his senses, the private jumped up and turned to the half-open flap of the tent behind him.

    "Sergeant!" he shouted.  "It's Sully!  Byron Sully—he's alive and he's comin' this way!"

* * * * * * * * * *

     Jake wandered down the street toward the Gold Nugget.  Debris from the explosion littered the ground and crunched beneath his boots as he walked.  He bent down and picked up a fragment of wood, regarding it dourly.  Angrily, he flung it away.

     He wondered if Hank could be right—that Sully could still be alive and responsible for all this. It would mean that Dr. Mike had lied to the town—and had been lying to everyone for weeks.  And not only Dr. Mike.  Everyone in the family--Matthew, Colleen, even young Brian—would have been in on the secret.

     Jake found it hard to accept that Dr. Mike would betray her friends' trust this way—or maybe he just didn't want to believe that she could be capable of such deception.  But she *had* been making lots of trips out of town in the last several weeks.  She had claimed, until recently, that she was still looking for Sully, and her friends—himself among them—had sympathetically refrained from stating the obvious:  that after such a severe fall and so many weeks, there was almost no chance that Sully had survived.

     But she was a doctor, wasn't she?  Maybe Sully had spent this time healing, as well as hiding—or maybe the whole thing was a lie and he hadn't been hurt at all—but conspiring with the Indians against the town.  And Dr. Mike had covered for him.  Like Hank had said, "She'd do anything to protect that man."

     Jake was interrupted from his speculations by a sudden flurry of activity and shouting from the direction of the army camp.  He looked up to see a man on horseback, carrying someone in front of him, rapidly approaching the clinic as two or three soldiers came running in pursuit.  Another rider—a woman—(Dorothy?) he thought—followed behind at a much slower pace, but the soldiers clearly were not interested in her.

     Unlike the army private, Jake didn't need to see a picture to recognize the man riding Dr. Mike's horse--and was that Dr. Mike with him, looking like she was hurt?!

     "I'll be damned," Jake thought as Sully cantered swiftly toward the clinic.  Sully reined to a stop, and his and Jake's eyes locked.  The army soldiers were still coming, and several passersby had stopped to stare at the shocking sight of a "dead" Sully come back to life, holding an injured Dr. Mike.  But the two men ignored them all.

     Jake was too stunned to move or speak, until he caught sight of  Dr. Mike's blood-stained shirtfront, and the deathly pallor of her skin.  As the graveness of Dr. Mike's condition registered on his senses, Jake's paralysis broke and he quickly crossed the street to Sully.

     "Give you a hand . . . ?"

     Sully nodded briefly, and lowered Michaela into Jake's outstretched arms.  He swung his leg over Flash's neck and jumped lightly to the ground.

     As Jake carefully placed Michaela back in her husband's arms, he asked, "What happened?"

     "She was shot," Sully said.  He looked back over his shoulder.  "Dorothy's hurt too—got beat up real bad.  She's gonna need help."

     Jake nodded, as Sully went to the door of the clinic shouting Andrew's name.

     Jake looked in the direction of the bridge, and saw Dorothy slowly approaching.  He intended to go to her assistance, but there was something else he needed to do first.

     Running back across the street, he headed for the splintered batwing doors of the saloon.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Hank stood behind the bar of the Gold Nugget, grimly surveying the damage to his business.  Glittering shards of glass covered the floor beneath the shattered windows.  The splintered remains of several tables and chairs lay strewn about.  Scorch marks scarred the walls.  Broken glassware and smashed bottles of liquor lay everywhere.  The air stank of whiskey.

     An empty glass sat on the bar in front of Hank, next to a bottle of his fabled "private stock."  The bottle was half empty.  Hank had been attempting to drown his sorrows for a while.

     As Hank thought for perhaps the hundredth time about the man who had done this to him—if only indirectly—he savagely kicked the bar.  Sully would pay for this, he swore to himself.  Now that he had the power of a sheriff's badge behind him, he could track down Sully and bring him in legally.  And HE would FIND him—not like the pathetic attempts of the army soldiers, who couldn't find their backsides with two hands and a lantern.

     He'd give Michaela an earful too, next time he saw her.  She'd stared him right in the eyes and lied about Sully for weeks, he thought furiously.  For some reason that Hank couldn't quite fathom, Michaela's betrayal seemed even worse than Sully's, somehow.  He'd figured, over time, that he and Michaela had formed a kind of friendship.  Or had at least developed a grudging respect for one another.  But he should have known that where Sully was concerned, she was besotted.  Well, he wouldn't make the mistake of trusting her again.  And as far as forgiveness was concerned . . . she'd better not hold her breath.

     Hank tipped the bottle over the glass, and poured himself another shot.  As he tossed it back, he began to formulate a plan to search for Sully.

     He looked up sharply as Jake poked his head in the doorway.

     "You better get out here," Jake said, his expression unreadable.  "Dr. Mike's been  shot—and Sully brought her in."

     For an instant Hank was frozen.  Then, his wavy blonde mane flying, he vaulted over the bar and ran out the ruined doorway after Jake.