"I'm sorry for my delay in getting to you Michaela, but you never should have waited so long to let us know you were in pain," said Andrew reprovingly as he extended her arm and swabbed the skin with alcohol in preparation for the injection.  Michaela, racked with pain now, didn't have the breath to speak, but could only bite down on her lips and endure the agony.   Otherwise, she feared she would scream.  Her free hand was clamped around Sully's, squeezing so tightly the skin of his fingers was white.

     Sully felt nothing.  All he could do was stare at Michaela's face, deep lines of pain etched across her forehead, and around her eyes and mouth, the paleness of her skin making her eyes seem almost black in comparison.  He tried to tell himself that it wouldn't always be this way, that Michaela's suffering would lessen in the days to come.  Nonetheless, he couldn't stop the panic that squeezed his heart as he watched her laying there helplessly, counting the excruciatingly long seconds until relief would come.

     It had taken much longer to locate Andrew than Sully had anticipated.  Catching Colleen before she left for the homestead with Matthew, he had sent her in search of the young doctor.  But she had been forced to seek him in several places before she finally found him in the newly reopened Gold Nugget, having a whiskey and sharing a cigar with Preston.

     In the time it took Colleen to bring Andrew back with her to the clinic, Michaela's pain had returned with a vengeance, swiftly graduating from piercing intermittent stabs to a relentless onslaught.  As Sully could only sit by impotently, unable to help her, he prayed as desperately as Michaela for an end to her suffering.

     Now, in response to Andrew, he could only say, "Hurry Andrew.  Please—just hurry."

     Andrew glanced at Sully's tortured eyes, then down at Michaela's paper-white visage.  "Of course," he said.  He quickly filled a syringe with morphine, then held it upwards, depressing the plunger to clear the cylinder of any air bubbles.  A minute jet of fluid spurted out in a fine spray which glistened in the lamplight.

     As Andrew pierced Michaela's arm with the needle, he said, "You should begin to feel the effects of this almost immediately, Michaela."

     His words seemed to come to Michaela's ears from far away, immersed as she was in the miasma of her pain.  But then, an overwhelming tide of—she could only describe it as "nothingness," like a smooth blanket of snow muffling a landscape—surged in to carry the pain away, making it recede to the outer reaches of her consciousness. Gratefully, she surrendered to the narcotic effect of the drug, and let herself drift away on its buoyant tide.   Her eyes slipped shut, as her fingers relaxed their frantic grip on Sully's.

     Sully kissed her hand gently, then laid it on the coverlet.  Michaela's slow, even breathing told him that she had fallen asleep.  He rose carefully from the bed, and gestured to Andrew to join him outside.  Andrew finished replacing his instruments in his medical bag, and followed Sully out of the room.

     "Sully, again I must offer you my apologies for not being here—but how did Michaela get into such a state?  She's a physican—she should have known to ask for medication long before her pain reached such a critical point."

     "She didn't want to take morphine—or even laudanum, for that matter," Sully explained, still shaken by what he'd seen Michaela go through.  "A few years back, she treated a patient who *needed* morphine—the doctors gave it to him durin' the war when he got a mini-ball in his leg, and afterwards he kept cravin' it—till he woulda done anythin' to get it."

     "I'm familiar with the syndrome," Andrew commented, then added suddenly, "Sully—are you saying Michaela thought *she* would develop Morphinism?"

     "Partly," Sully said.  "But--I think she's even more afraid of losin' control.  For her own sake, but for mine, too.  She wants to help me through my problems with the army, and she feels she can't if she don't have her senses about her."

     "She never stops trying to 'do it all,' does she?" Andrew said, shaking his head.

     "No," Sully agreed.  "But at least I managed to convince her to take the morphine now, while she needs it.  We just never realized the pain would get so bad, so fast."

     "I pledge to you that I won't allow that to happen again," Andrew assured him, placing a comforting hand on Sully's shoulder.  "I'm truly sorry that my absence put both of you through this."

     "You couldn't know," Sully said.  "But you got to be honest with me, Andrew.  Is she really gonna be all right?  Should the pain be this bad?  Maybe somethin's wrong."  His face was white and strained.

     "I checked the incision," Andrew said.  "It's been two days and there's no sign of infection.  Everything is proceeding normally.  Michaela has had major surgery, and pain in the aftermath of such surgery can be quite severe.  I promise you that it will abate in the days to come—probably much sooner than you might expect—IF Michaela follows my orders and submits to complete bedrest, for at least two weeks."

     "I'll make sure of it," Sully vowed.

     "Michaela will be all right, Sully," Andrew assured him again.  "You just have to be patient a little longer.  As for now, she should sleep through the night—why don't you take the opportunity to get some rest yourself?  You still look like you could use it."

     "Sure," Sully said briefly, giving Andrew the answer he wanted, though in fact the last thing he felt like doing was sleeping. "Thanks, Andrew."

     "I'll be staying the night in the clinic if Michaela should need anything before morning," Andrew told him.  "Take care, Sully."  He walked away toward the stairs.

     Sully leaned back against the wall, wearily rubbing at his eyes.  How much longer, he wondered, would all this go on?  All the questions, all the uncertainty—about Michaela's survival, his own future, the problem with Black Moon and the renegades . . .  Thinking of the Indians reminded him—Black Moon had given them a deadline of two days to extract a promise of safe passage from the army.  The deadline would be up tomorrow.

     McKay had promised he'd "sleep on it," but that might not give them enough time.  Sully needed to procure an agreement from the sergeant tonight, so that he could send word to Cloud Dancing.  Matthew already had plans to return to the homestead.  From there, he could go on to the cave, and meet with Sully's Cheyenne "brother."

     The rear clinic door opened and Matthew entered.  One glance at Sully's face alerted him that something had happened.

     "What's wrong?" he said, quickly joining Sully.  "Is it Dr. Mike?"

     "Yeah—she had a lot of pain and went through a pretty bad time, once the morphine wore off," Sully replied.

     "How is she?" Matthew asked, his eyes frightened.

     "She's all right now," Sully told him.  "Andrew gave her another shot of morphine—she'll most likely sleep through the night."

     "Why didn't Andrew do somethin' for her sooner?" Matthew demanded.

     Sully explained the circumstances, and Matthew visbly calmed once he was reassured that his mother would be all right, and unlikely to experience such a bad episode again.

     "How come doctors make such bad patients?" Matthew finally said with a small smile, trying to lighten the moment.

     "Wish I knew," Sully answered with a half-smile of his own.  "And your ma is probably the worst of the lot.  I think this whole thing taught her that she's got to take it easy—but we still need to watch her, Matthew.  She's got enough of a fight on her hands just gettin' better, without takin' on all my burdens in the bargain."

     "I'll do my part," Matthew promised.  "Well, Colleen's waitin' on me, so I'd best be goin'.  Take it easy, Sully."  He turned to leave, but Sully put a hand on his arm.

     "Before you go, I need another favor, Matthew.  I have to get McKay to agree to release the Indians tonight, so I can get word to Cloud Dancin'.  I think I had McKay almost convinced earlier—can you wait a few minutes for me to get his promise?  And then take a message to Cloud Dancin'?"

     "Sure—whatever you need," Matthew said.  "I'll wait with Colleen while you talk to him."

     "One more thing," Sully said, not really understanding why he felt the need to put the question, but feeling compelled to all the same.  "What kept you before?"

     Matthew's eyes were neutral.  "What do you mean?"

     "When we were goin' in to see your ma earlier--you hung back to answer a question from McKay, but you were with him and Hank an awful long time.  What did he want?"

     "He just asked me if I'd testify against Bancroft, if it came down to it," Matthew said blandly.  "Of course I told him I would."

     "It took you all that time to say that?" Sully, said, watching him carefully.

     Matthew shrugged.  "'Course not," he said casually.  "I was tellin' him about some of the statutes I'd been readin' about in my law books, tryin' to figure out some angles we could use in the case."

     "The case against Bancroft?" Sully persisted.

     Matthew hesitated a fraction of an instant.  "Yeah," he said.  "I sure wouldn't be tellin' him my strategy for defendin' you," he added.

     Sully relaxed slightly.  "Yeah, I 'spose not," he acknowledged.

     "Speakin' of your case, Hank got the wire from the circuit judge--he'll be here in a week," Matthew said suddenly.

     "Good," Sully sighed.  "Finally somethin's goin' right."

     "I'm sorry—I shoulda told you sooner," Matthew apologized.  "I guess what happened with Dr. Mike drove it out of my mind."

     "It's all right," Sully said, then added, "But a week ain't very long.  Will you have enough time to get ready?"

     "I should," Matthew said.   "Three things you gotta remember, Sully:  the army don't have any proof, they don't have enough witnesses, and they've never convicted anyone for treason.  We got a good case," he added.  "You're gonna beat this, Sully."

     "With you in my corner, Matthew, I know I at least got a fightin' chance," Sully told him.

     "It's gettin' late," Matthew pointed out.  "Maybe you'd best talk to McKay."

     "You're right," Sully agreed.

     Matthew looked at him closely.  "Sully—are YOU all right?  All this has gotta be hard on you."

     "When your ma's well, I'll be all right—and when I win my case I'll be better still," Sully told him.  "Till then, I guess I just gotta take it one moment at a time."

     "Good luck with McKay," Matthew told him.

     "I'll talk to you directly," Sully said, and walked toward the door of the examination room.

* * * * * * * * * *

     "Sully," said McKay, rising from a chair as Sully entered the room.  "I heard about the emergency with Dr. Quinn.  Is she all right?"

     Sully raked the hair back from his brow and dropped wearily into Michaela's desk chair.  "She will be," he said.  "She just needs to take it easy and let folks take care of her for a change, 'stead of the other way around."

     "I get the impression that's hard for her to do," McKay observed, admiration for Michaela's determination evident in his eyes.

     "You got that right," Sully answered.  They shared a smile of commiseration.

     "Sergeant," Sully resumed.  "I know it's late—and I know you said you'd give me an answer in the mornin'—but I really need to know tonight.  Will you release the Indians you're holdin' and give them safe passage to the Tongue River Valley?"

     "Why do you need my answer tonight?" McKay asked.

     "Let's just say, a solution to the problem of the renegades could depend on it," Sully answered.

     "You won't elaborate any more than that?" said McKay.

     "I can't," Sully admitted honestly.  "You just got to trust me on this.  I know that's  askin' a lot  under the circumstances, but I think you know I'm tryin' to do the best thing for the Indians, for the town--even for the army.  There's been too much bloodshed—it's got to stop sometime.  This could be the first step."

     The men's eyes met—Sully's earnest, McKay's thoughtful.  After a moment McKay got to his feet.

     "They'll be released first thing in the morning," he said.  "I'll assign four of my men to accompany them there.  And now, Sully, I'll say good night."  He opened the door, revealing two of his soldiers standing outside.

     "Sergeant," Sully said.

     McKay looked back at him.

     "I was wrong about you," Sully said simply.

     McKay smiled at him slightly.  "Can I consider that a compliment?" he asked.

     "You can," Sully answered.  There was a pause.

     "I was wrong about you, too," McKay told him.  He touched his hand to the brim of his cap.  "Good night, Sully."

     "Good night, Sergeant," Sully said quietly.