"Andrew!" shouted Sully outside the clinic door.  "Andrew—open up!  I need help!"

     Behind him, Hank burst through the entrance of the Gold Nugget and ran out into the street, as Jake hurried to meet Dorothy, who had just reached the clinic.  At the top of the street, Loren emerged from the doorway of the mercantile and stared toward the clinic, convinced his eyes must be deceiving him.

     "I don't believe it," he muttered.

     Reverend Johnson, who had been sunning himself on the porch of the store, his hands propped on the head of his cane, rose to his feet and reached out for Loren's arm.

     "Loren, what is it?" he asked anxiously as Sully's shouts reached his ears.

     "It's Sully—he's alive—and he's carryin' Dr. Mike," Loren reported, hardly able to believe what he was saying.  "She looks like she's been hurt bad."

     "Oh dear Lord—poor Dr. Mike," the Reverend said, shaken.  "Loren—you say Sully is ALIVE?"

     "He's alive," Loren repeated, his tone an odd mixture of anger and relief.  "Come on," he added brusquely, not bothering to remove his apron and holding out his arm for the Reverend to grasp.

     Above Sully's head, the French doors of the recovery room flew open with a bang as Brian rushed out onto the balcony.

     "Sully!" he exclaimed, hanging over the rail, and then, as his eyes fell on his mother, "Ma!"

    Simultaneously, the clinic door swung open to reveal an astonished Andrew.

     "SULLY?" he said as Sully brushed past him to lay Michaela on the examination table.  Michaela's blood streaked his shirt, and more blood stained his hands.

     "What happened?" Andrew asked, regaining his professional composure after a moment's hesitation.  He quickly put his stethoscope to his ears to listen to Michaela's chest.

     "She was shot," Sully said breathlessly.  "The bullet's still in her.  I couldn't stop the bleedin'."

     "She's hemorrhaging badly," Andrew confirmed, his expression grave.  "The bullet must have hit a major artery.  Pulse is weak and rapid.   How long ago did it happen?"

     "I-I ain't sure," Sully said helplessly.  "Maybe an hour, maybe more.  I wasn't there.  She and Dorothy were on their way here when they got ambushed.  Dorothy was hurt too—beat up pretty bad."

     Brian burst through the door leading to the recovery rooms.

     "Ma!" he cried, starting to run to her.  Sully grabbed him before he could reach her.

 "No, Brian!" he said, his arms wrapped across Brian's chest.  "You gotta stay back."
 
     "But—what happened to her?" Brian asked frantically, tears filling his eyes.

     "Michaela!  My God, what happened?" Marjorie exclaimed, following Brian into the room from the hall.

     "That's what I would like to know," said Sgt. McKay, from the open doorway.  Two of his men—in addition to Hank, Loren and the Reverend—crowded into the room behind him.

     Ignoring McKay, Sully said, "Marjorie—where's Katie?"

     "I just put her down for a nap upstairs," Marjorie answered him.  "But Sully, what—“

     "I'm gonna need you to watch out for her," Sully told her.

     "You know I will—“

     "Comin' through!  Come on, give us some room!" Jake snapped, as he led Dorothy to the clinic entrance.

     "Dorothy!" Loren burst out, appalled at her bruised and battered appearance.

     "I'll be all right, Loren—no need to fuss," Dorothy placated him, leaning on Jake's arm as the men in the doorway parted to make room for them to pass.  Loren hastened to take Dorothy's other arm, and the two men helped Dorothy to the cot along the wall, easing her on to it gently.

     "Everyone, please!" Andrew said sharply, raising his voice to be heard over the confusion.  "If you have no medical reason for being here, you must clear the clinic!  Michaela's condition is critical—she needs immediate surgery!"

     The assembled onlookers began to back out reluctantly, Sgt. McKay resisting the longest.

     "EVERYONE," Andrew repeated, as he stared challengingly at Sgt. McKay.

     "I'll be waiting outside, Mr. Sully," McKay said pointedly, then turned and walked out.

     Andrew seized some squares of linen from a nearby pile of bandages.  He removed the second bandage Sully had applied, now soaked through with blood.  He used a piece of clean linen to blot away the excess blood from the wound, then sprayed and disinfected the site with an application of  carbolic acid. Pressing another square of fresh linen over the wound, he said, "Marjorie, can you keep pressure on this, please?"  Marjorie, her eyes stricken, nodded and placed her hand over the bandage.

     Andrew turned to Dorothy.  "Dorothy, how badly are you hurt?"

     "Somebody pistol-whipped her in the face and kicked her in the ribs," Jake answered for her.

     Andrew listened to Dorothy's chest and back, and then carefully probed her ribs and  her jaw.

     Removing the stethoscope from his ears, he said, "One rib appears to be broken, but fortunately, it hasn't punctured the lung.  The blow to your jaw—while undoubtedly quite painful—doesn't appear to be serious.  I'll want to keep you here at the clinic overnight for observation—you may have sustained a concussion.  And your ribs will need to be wrapped.  I'll attend to it as soon as I can, but—“

     "It's all right, Andrew," Dorothy assured him.  "You just take care of Michaela."

     "I can give you laudanum for the pain in the meantime," Andrew told her.  "You can rest in one of the recovery rooms until Michaela's surgery is over and I can treat you."

     "I can take care of her," Jake spoke up.

     "I'm sorry, Jake, but I need you to assist in Michaela's surgery," Andrew said.  "Can you do it?"  He stared at Jake.

     Jake looked from Sully's pale, set face, to Brian's tear-stained one, and then turned back to the serious young doctor before him.  He swallowed hard.

     "Yeah—I can do it," he answered quietly.

     "Good," Andrew said briskly.  "Go wash up.

     "Marjorie," he added, as Jake went to the washstand by the window, "After Jake takes over here, I'd like you to help Dorothy upstairs and stay with her."  As Marjorie looked as if she was about to protest, he added gently, "Family members can't stay."

     Andrew went to a shelf and took down a bottle of laudanum.  Quickly, he removed the stopper from the bottle and poured a small amount into a glass.  "Here Dorothy, take this," he said, handing the glass to her.

     Finally, Andrew turned to Sully.

     "Sully, you're going to have to step out now," he said gently.

     Sully's gaze pierced him.  Andrew could read the naked fear in his eyes.

     "Andrew, you gotta save her," Sully said, barely above a whisper.  "Don't—don't let her go anywhere."

     "I'll do everything I can," Andrew promised him, grasping his shoulder.

     Sully leaned down to his son.  "Brian, could you go outside now?" he said softly.  "I'll be there in a minute."

     Brian looked up at him imploringly.  "Is Ma gonna die?" he whispered.

     "No, she ain't gonna die," Sully answered, meeting Brian's eyes resolutely.

     "But—how do you know?" Brian asked.

     "'Cause I ain't gonna let that happen," Sully vowed to him.  "I promise."  He hugged Brian hard, then gently pushed him in the direction of the door.  "Go on now—I’ll be out directly."

     Slowly Brian went outside, as Sully turned to the still form of his wife lying on the table.  He leaned over her, his face inches from hers, and tenderly stroked her forehead.

     "I love you Michaela," he whispered.  "I love you with all my heart and soul.  Come back to me.  Please—come back to me."    He pressed his warm lips to her cool ones.   A single tear, poised on his lashes like a glittering jewel, dropped onto her cheek.  Gently, he kissed it away.

     Andrew touched his shoulder.  "Sully, we must begin."

     Taking a shuddering breath, Sully nodded, and slowly straightened.  He walked to the doorway, then turned to look back at Michaela once more, trying to fill his eyes and heart with her image.

     Finally, he stepped through the door to what waited beyond.