"Andrew, she woke up," Sully announced as he came into the main room of the clinic.  He felt wrung out from his fit of weeping, but also calmer and more at peace than he had in days.

     "Excellent!" Andrew replied.  "Did she know where she was?  Was she talking?"
 
     "Yes to both questions,"  Sully replied.  "She's real weak—and she was kinda confused about wakin' up in the clinic.  But she was talkin' real clear—she even knew what kind of injury she had, after I told her about the bleedin'.  And she remembers bein' shot—though nothing after that."

     "That's quite common after suffering such a trauma," Andrew assured him.  "But everything else you've told me sounds very encouraging.  Is she awake now?"

     "She fell asleep again—talkin' tired her out," Sully reported.

     "That's also quite normal," Andrew said.  "She'll probably drift in and out for a while.  It's her body's way of getting the rest she needs to help her to heal."

     "I figured that," said Sully.  A troubled expression crossed his face.  "She was hurtin', Andrew.  She tried to make light of it, so I wouldn't worry, but I could tell the pain was bad.  I wanted to come get you, ask you to give her somethin' for the pain, but she wouldn't let me."

     "That sounds like Michaela," Andrew remarked.  "Always trying to be strong—not wanting to admit that she needs help."

     "She's been like that ever since I've known her," Sully acknowledged.

     "Well, I'm afraid she's not going to get her way this time," Andrew said.  "I'll look in on her right now, and give her some morphine."

     "Thanks," said Sully.  "I can't stand the thought of her bein' in pain."

     "I promise you I'll make her comfortable," Andrew assured him.

     "Andrew," Sully said.  The doctor hesitated.  "Where's Sgt. McKay?"

     "One of his men came looking for him—some problem at the army camp," Andrew told him.  "He said he'd be back—though I can't say I understand why you'd want to prolong your conversation with him."

     "There's somethin' important I need to talk to him about," Sully said.

     "Well that, of course, is your affair," Andrew said, and left the room.

     Sully stood in the middle of the room, somewhat at a loss as to what to do with himself.  For so long he had been fixated on Michaela, worrying whether she'd make it through the surgery, worrying whether she was going to wake up, worrying if she would respond to the transfusion.  Now that she'd come through the worst of it, and he knew she would recover, he felt rather—empty.  He was grateful to the depth of his soul that Michaela would be all right, but suddenly it felt as if he were in limbo, with no purpose to serve.

     Well, that wasn't quite right, he mused.  Now that Michaela was getting better, her need for him wasn't as urgent.  But he still had something vital to do—this time, for the Indians.  When McKay returned, Sully would speak to him about freeing the Indians the army was holding captive, and letting them go to the Tongue River Valley.  If McKay agreed to release the Indians, and Black Moon saw this display of good faith, hopefully he would reciprocate by calling a truce and ending the raids.

     "Sully?" said a voice, interrupting his train of thought.

     He looked up to see Dorothy in the doorway to the recovery rooms.  She looked fragile, but much better than when he'd last seen her.

     "Dorothy!" he greeted her, crossing the room to her quickly and taking her by the arm.  "Come sit down."  She leaned on him gratefully as he led her to a chair.

     "How are you feelin'?" he asked as she settled into the chair with a sigh.

     "Much better—Andrew took good care of me," she said.

     "I'm sorry I ain't been in to check on you for a while," Sully apologized.  "I was kinda occupied with Michaela."

     "Of course you were!"  Dorothy exclaimed.  "Sully, there's no need to apologize—your place is by Michaela's side.  I wouldn't have it any other way.  But Sully, it's such wonderful news about Michaela!  I can't tell you how overjoyed I was when Andrew told me just now that she's going to be all right."  She gave him a glowing smile.

     "Thanks, Dorothy," Sully said sincerely.  "And thank you for everythin' you tried to do for her.  You were real strong, considerin' what that—“ he checked the epithet which rose to his lips.  "What that *monster” did to you."

     "Does Michaela remember—what happened?" Dorothy asked hesitantly.

     "Some," Sully told her.  "She remembers everythin' that happened right up until she was shot—but everythin' afterwards is a blank."

     "Maybe that's a blessin'," Dorothy commented.  She shuddered slightly.  "I wish I could forget it myself.  But then there would be no one to testify against this man and make sure he's put in prison, where he belongs.  He *will* go to prison—won't he, Sully?" she added a trifle anxiously.

     "I'm sure of it," Sully said firmly.  "Hank's pretty certain the man they got in custody in Denver is the same man who hurt you and Michaela.  And I know Hank won't rest till he gets him to confess."

     "Maybe Hank becomin' sheriff ain't such a bad thing after all," Dorothy commented.  "From what I hear, so far he seems to be doin' a pretty good job."

     "I gotta admit that he's been real decent—goin' after this man, and even puttin aside his personal feelins'  about me for the time bein'," Sully agreed.

     "What's going to happen with you Sully—I mean, with the charges against you?" said Dorothy.  "That is, if you don't mind my askin'," she added.

     Sully shrugged.  "I ain't got any secrets—not anymore, anyway," he said, with a slight smile.  "It looks like there's gonna be a trial—but how it will turn out remains to be seen."

     "I'll be prayin' for you," Dorothy told him.  "And Michaela and the children."

     "I appreciate that," he said.  "I can use all the help I can get—we all can."

     There was a knock at the clinic door.  Sully went to answer.  Through the glass of the window he could see McKay standing outside.  He opened the door.

     "Sergeant—glad you came back," Sully greeted him.

     "I'm sorry I had to leave," McKay replied, stepping inside.  "There was a problem in camp that demanded my attention."  His eyes fell on Dorothy.  "Mrs. Jennings," he said, removing his cap.  "It's good to see you up and around—how are you feeling?"

     "Better, thank you, Sergeant," Dorothy answered politely.

     "Did Sully tell you that Sheriff Lawson is on the trail of the man that assaulted you and Dr. Quinn?" McKay asked.

     "Yes indeed," Dorothy said.  "I'm glad to hear that Hank tracked him down so quickly."

     "*If* this is the right man," McKay added, not quite ready to commit himself to that fact until he had seen and spoken with Hank.

     "Hank seemed pretty positive," Sully commented.  "This fella fit Dorothy's description to a 'T'—‘specially the part she mentioned about the ruby ring."

     "I hope Mr. Lawson is correct," McKay answered.  "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see Mrs. Jennings's and Dr. Quinn's attacker brought to justice."

     "Then that's somethin' else we agree on," Sully told him.  Their eyes met in a moment of mutual understanding.

     Dorothy looked from one man to the other.  "I imagine you got important things to discuss," she said intuitively.  "I'll leave you so you can have some privacy."

     "Can I help you back to your room, Dorothy?"  Sully asked, grasping her arm and assisting her to her feet.

     "Thank you, Sully, but it's not necessary," Dorothy assured him.  "Andrew said I could have a little light exercise, so I thought I'd take a walk over to the general store, get some fresh air."

     "Sounds like good medicine," said Sully.  "Just be sure you don't overdo."

     Dorothy smiled at him.  "I'll be careful," she promised.  "I imagine Loren will do his share of fussin' over me—so I couldn't overdo even if I wanted to."

     "You're probably right about that," Sully said, smiling back at her as he walked her to the door.

     Dorothy looked back over her shoulder.  "Good day, Sergeant."

     "Ma'am," said McKay.

     The two men watched as she exited the clinic and slowly strolled up the street.  After a moment, Sully shut the door and turned to McKay.

     "I thought you'd like to know—Michaela woke up," Sully said.  "She's weak, but she's gonna be all right."

     "I'm very glad to hear that," McKay responded.  "As I'm sure the whole town will be."

     "Michaela's got a lot of friends here in Colorado Springs," Sully acknowledged.  He returned to his former seat behind Michaela's desk.  McKay took the other chair and sat down, facing him.

     "So—you were going to tell me everything that happened to you after your fall," McKay reminded Sully.

     "And I will," Sully promised.  "But first, there's another matter we need to talk about."

     "What would that be?" said McKay.

     "It concerns the Indians—the ones you got confined at the camp," Sully answered.

     "What about them?" McKay asked.

     Sully looked McKay in the eyes.  "I want you to set them free," he said.

* * * * * * * * * *

     McKay's eyes widened.  "I beg your pardon?"

     "That is, I'm *askin'* you to set them free," Sully amended.

     "Mr. Sully—“ McKay began in exasperation.

     Sully held up his hand.  "I know, I know, you don't gotta say it—I got enough gall to be divided into three parts—“

     Lightening quick, a smile flickered across McKay's face, though he immediately tried to smother it.  But not before Sully caught a glimpse of it and knew he had McKay in his corner—at least  long enough to listen to him.

     "Just hear me out," he requested.  "It don't cost nothin' to listen, right?"

     McKay leaned back in his chair and made himself comfortable.  "Go ahead," he answered, resigned.

     "Thanks," Sully said.  "I'll come right to the point.  Think about the folks you're holdin' Sergeant—who have you got?  Women, children and old men—that's all you got left here."

     "Prisoners of war," McKay interjected.

     "They're a lost people," Sully went on.  "They've been lied to, cheated and killed—all in the name of progress."

     "And they killed homesteaders and burned their homes to the ground," McKay said flatly.

     "The dog soldiers did that Sergeant—not these people," Sully protested.  "I'm for ending the raids and the killin' as much as you are, but holdin' these people prisoner ain' the way to do it.  I've been thinkin' maybe the army needs to try somethin' different."

     "Like what?" McKay said skeptically.

     "Like lettin' them go," Sully said simply.  "Showin' the dog soldiers that the army don't harm people who ain't warring against them.  Now if you escort their families to Indian territory, I think the dog soldiers would follow.

     "The Indians want to live in peace, Sergeant,"  Sully went on passionately.   "They want to see their children grow up, just the same as you and me."

     McKay looked down for a moment, then back up at Sully.  His expression was still unconvinced.

     "I admire your idealism, Mr. Sully, but I have to disagree," he said.

     "Look—if I'm wrong, what have you lost?" Sully argued reasonably.  "Your men will be free to go out and fight the dog soldiers.  But if I'm right—you could save a lot of lives."

     McKay stared at him thoughtfully, and Sully felt a small rush of hope.

     "I'll consider it," McKay said finally.  Sully breathed an inward sigh of relief.

     "That's all I can ask," he said honestly.

     "And Black Moon?  Will he go along with this?" McKay asked.

     "I think if you show a display of faith by freein' the Indians, then Black Moon will respond in kind," Sully said earnestly.  "He ain't evil, Sergeant, just desperate.  Up to now,. he's figured fightin' is the only way.  But maybe you and me together, can show him a *better* way."  He raised his eyebrows and gave McKay a penetrating look.

     "You made some good points," McKay conceded after a pause.  "I'll sleep on it—let you know tomorrow."

     "That's fair," Sully said.

     "But now," McKay added, changing the subject.  "It's time for you to live up to your part of the bargain, and finish telling me about the time you were missing."

     "All right," Sully agreed.  For the next quarter of an hour, he related how he pulled himself from the river, battered and broken, yet somehow managed to stay alive and hold on till Michaela found and rescued him.  He described the arduous weeks of recovery which followed, made brighter by the presence of his wife.  He avoided any mention of the kids coming to visit and helping to care for him, however.  There was no reason to bring them into it, and every reason to keep them out of it.  McKay had agreed to help him conceal Michaela's role in his recovery, and had just demonstrated a willingness to be merciful to the Indians.  Sully knew not to push him too far.

     As he talked, Sully was peripherally aware of the sun sinking below the horizon, and twilight coming to touch the windows of the clinic.  At some point, his ears registered the distant sound of a train whistle as the evening train from Denver pulled into the station.

     He finished his recitation, and silence fell between the men as McKay sat and considered what he had heard.

     "It seems you really are a 'miracle man,' Sully," he finally commented.

     Sully shook his head.  "Far from it," he said.  "But thanks to Cloud Dancin' and the Cheyenne, I had the survival skills to keep myself alive till Michaela could find me.  The Indians saved my life again—without even tryin'."

     A sharp rap at the door caused them both to look up.  Sully rose and went to the door.  He opened it to see Hank standing on the threshold.

     "Hank!" Sully said, somewhat in surprise.  "I didn't know you were back."

     The bartender stepped inside.  He glanced at McKay and nodded briefly, then turned his eyes back to Sully.  "I just got in on the train," he said shortly.  His eyes wore a peculiar expression.

     Sully noted the oddness of Hank's manner.  "What is it?" he asked, his intuition sharpening his senses.

     "We gotta talk," Hank stated.