A few minutes later, Sully was back in his seat, pale and composed, after a quick trip to the pump outside to splash water on his face, and spend a few moments alone.  Hank had hovered behind him, keeping the prying spectators at bay while Sully cooled his hot face and took a welcome drink.  However Hank had maintained a discreet distance when Sully strolled off by himself,  trying to rediscover the still, quiet place inside his heart—the place he went to when he was troubled, and needed to see things clearly.  He had begun to accept that there were things he couldn’t change.  Cloud Dancing had sealed his own fate when he appeared in the courtroom.  Sully had no power over his friend’s future now—but it had been Cloud Dancing’s decision.  Rosalind’s words from their first conversation echoed back to him:  “Byron—you are not—you cannot—be your brother’s keeper.  You must allow others the freedom to make their own choices—and perhaps, their own mistakes.”

     There also was nothing he could do for Robert E.  The truth was out, and couldn’t be taken back.  Sully just had to pray that the judge would not punish Robert E. too severely for helping him out of friendship—that the courageous blacksmith would not have to pay for his sins.  And he had to pray that Grace and Anthony would forgive him.

     As for himself . . . he didn’t know.  It was almost funny, in a tragic sort of way.  Not so many years ago he had wanted to die.  He had prayed for it, yearned for it—willed it to happen.  What was the point of living, when he’d lost everything that mattered?   Now, he was terrified by the specter of death, because he had so much—a whole new life, children he adored, and a wife he loved beyond all beyond all reason, or understanding.  How could he give them up?  How?

     Cloud Dancing had told him to place his faith in the spirits.  But for the first time, his faith in the spirits was shaken—perhaps even non-existent.  He didn’t see how anything or anyone could help him now.

     Sully looked up sharply at the bang of the gavel.  Judge Webster was reconvening the court.

     “Mr. Cooper, will you present your statement now?” Webster directed.

     Matthew straightened his jacket slightly and rose to his feet.  “Thank you, Your Honor,” he said, moving to the front of the room.  He gazed out over the pews, crowded with on-lookers.

     “Cloud Dancin’ has already made an eloquent case for the defense,” he said clearly.  “He spoke of friendship—his friendship with Byron Sully.  A bond of carin’ and loyalty between two men so strong that they would risk their safety, their futures—even their very lives—for one another.  Cloud Dancin’ proved that today.  And Byron Sully proved it the day of the uprisin’, when he acted to save his friend from sufferin’ any more at the hands of callous, brutal army soldiers.

    “Over time, Cloud Dancin’ had been robbed of nearly everythin’ in his life that had any meanin’—of his people, at Sand Creek; of his only son, killed by a dog soldier named One-Eye; of his wife Snowbird and his chief Black Kettle, murdered by Custer’s men in the massacre at the Washita; and of his right to practice his medicine and religion, to live in a teepee instead of a shack—even his right to wear his traditional dress, instead of white men’s clothes.  After Cloud Dancin’ was so cruelly and viciously beaten, Byron Sully was desperately afraid that his friend—his brother—was in danger of losin’ the only thing he had left—his life.  And Sully couldn’t stand by and let it happen.  He couldn’t abandon his friend, even if it meant breakin’ the rules, or breakin’ his word.

    “And Sully’s friendship didn’t stop with Cloud Dancin’.  Sully was a friend to all the Indians—and it hurt him, and angered him, to see the way they were treated by the army soldiers when he was Indian Agent.  He tried to help them—he tried to stop men like Bryan O’Conner from takin’ out their hate and prejudice on the Indians and makin’ them suffer.  It hurt him even more, after he was fired as Indian Agent, that he was completely powerless to help them.  He couldn’t even come onto the reservation.  It was hard for Sully to stay away—one of the hardest things he’s probably ever done.  But he kept the vow he’d made to General Wooden.  He kept it for nearly a year—till he heard Cloud Dancin’ had been nearly beaten to death—and he couldn’t keep it anymore.”

    Matthew turned toward the judge.  “I want to believe in the goodness of people, Your Honor.  I want to believe that somewhere inside all of us is a spark of mercy, and compassion for our fellow man.  I want to believe that a man fightin’ desperately to save the lives of those who are sufferin’ torment, can be forgiven for makin’ a mistake.  On that basis alone, I believe Byron Sully deserves understandin’, and compassion.  And I would petition you to give him the forgiveness he deserves, and drop the charge of treason against him.”  Matthew paused, and turned slowly, letting his gaze travel across everyone assembled.   An odd expression had crept into his eyes.  Sully tried to read what was in Matthew’s mind, but his stepson’s face was inscrutable.  Matthew faced the judge again.

    “Your Honor, I want to believe that this court would show the defendent, Byron Sully, the same mercy that Sully showed when he rescued Cloud Dancin’.  But there’s somethin’ else goin’ on here.  Somethin’ dark, and corrupted, that needs to be exposed to the righteous light of justice and truth.”  He took a breath.  “Your Honor, I have vital new evidence to present, but to do so, I need to make an unusual request of you.  I recognize that what I’m about to ask is highly irregular, but I promise that if you will allow me, the information I reveal will change the entire nature of this case.”

    The judge studied Matthew closely.  “And what is your request, Mr. Cooper?”

    “I need to call a witness to the stand—now.  A witness whose testimony will provide the key to Byron Sully’s future.”

    Sully stared at Matthew.  What was he talking about?  He turned to Michaela.  She looked as perplexed and astonished as he felt.  The other spectators were watching Matthew eagerly, intrigued by this unexpected development.

    Morrison leaped to his feet.  “Your Honor, this is truly beyond the pale!” he exclaimed angrily.  “I have endured your censure, and have stood by and watched while a fugitive Indian made a mockery of this  trial.  Now Mr. Cooper proposes to throw away any semblance of accepted courtroom procedure while he indulges in cheap and insulting theatrics.  I will not stand for it, Your Honor!”

    “I will remind you just once more, Major Morrison, that *I* am in charge here,” Judge Webster said ominously.  “It is *my* decision as to what I will or will not permit.  You are free to lodge another complaint—you are free to appeal for a new trial, if that is your intent.  But I will conduct *this* trial as I see fit.”  He turned back to Matthew.  “I must warn you, Mr. Cooper, that your colleague is correct—what you are asking stretches the limits both of my patience and my credulity.”

    “I understand, Your Honor,” said Matthew. “I realize my request is a serious breach of courtroom procedure.  But the stakes are equally serious, Your Honor.  And I swear to you that the testimony of my witness will reveal the truth—the hidden truth, the truth which MUST come out.  Please, Your Honor,” he added quietly.  “I ask your indulgence—and your trust.”

    Webster stared at Matthew for a long moment, taking his measure and considering his words.  Finally, however, his doubts appeared to be satisfied.

    “We are here seeking truth,” he acknowledged.  “And sometimes, the journey towards truth may take us down some strange or unusual paths.  Very well, Mr. Cooper—I will allow you to pursue your quest to find the truth in this case.  We will waive customary  procedure.  You may proceed.”

    “Thank you, You Honor,” Matthew said gratefully.  “I promise you won’t regret it.”

    “I had better not, Mr. Cooper,” the judge replied.  “Call your witness.”

    “Yes, Your Honor.”  Matthew faced the court.  “I call Corporal Joseph Collins to the stand,” he said.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “Joseph Collins?” Sully thought, entirely perplexed.  The name meant nothing to him.  He turned around, seeking the identity of this mysterious witness.  As he watched, the corporal who had been seated next to McKay rose in answer to Matthew’s summons and came down the aisle.
 
     Something made Sully glance over at Morrison.  The prosecutor, who had looked  nearly apoplectic just moments ago as he ranted at the judge, had now turned the pallid, grayish hue of old chalk.  The major’s flint-colored eyes, looking dull and lifeless, followed the corporal’s progress to the front of the room as if he were hypnotized.   Sully tried to remember where he had seen eyes like that before, and then it came to him.  When they had all gone to Washington to testify before the confirmation hearings, before he had been arrested for desertion, the family had visited the famed Smithsonian Institution.  Sully and Brian had been strolling through a large room filled with exhibits of rare varieties of fish.  In the center of the gallery, suspended in a large tank filled with formaldehyde, floated  the preserved body of a small shark.  The shark’s eye had stared out at them blindly—flat, black, and—Sully had known intuitively—as soulless in life as it was in death.  Morrison’s eyes looked like that now.  As Sully made the connection to the memory, he shuddered involuntarily.

     The corporal reached the judge’s desk and seated himself in the witness chair.  He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, clean-shaven, with dark hair that brushed his uniform collar and long side-burns.  Matthew approached him.

     “Will you please state your name, rank and duty assignment?” he said.

     “Collins, Joseph L., Corporal, attached to the garrison assigned to Colorado Springs.  I’m an aide to Sgt. Terrence McKay, company commander,” Collins responded.

     “I see.  Can you tell us some of your duties, Corporal Collins?” Matthew asked.

     Collins nodded.  “I carry out Sgt. McKay’s orders,  form work details and issue duty assignments—that sort of thing.”

     “Thank you,” Matthew acknowledged.  “Now, Corporal, I’d like you to think back to the evenin’ before last, approximately 8:30 p.m.  Where were you?”

     “I was outside of Sgt. McKay’s tent,” said Collins.

     “And were you performin’ one of those duties you spoke of?”

     Collins nodded in assent.  “Yes, I was preparing the duty roster for the next day.”

     “Were you alone?”

     “Not exactly.”

     “What do you mean?” asked Matthew.

     “Well, I was alone outside, but Sgt. McKay was in his tent, just a few feet away.”

     “I see,” said Matthew.  “And was the sergeant alone?”

     “At first,” said the corporal.

     “At first?” Matthew repeated.  “Do you mean that the sergeant had a visitor?”

     “Yes.”

     “Can you tell us the name of that visitor?”

     “Yes—Major Samuel Morrison.”

     A murmur arose from the gathered spectators, but it subsided quickly at a warning look from the judge.

     “Major Samuel Morrison,” Matthew repeated.  “Would that be the same Major Morrison who is presecutin’ this case?”

     “Yes.”

     Sully glanced at the prosecutor again.  Morrison’s eyes, looking dark and haggard in his bleached face, were fixed on Collins.

     “Did the major tell you the purpose of his visit?” said Matthew.

     “Just that he had to see the sergeant.  He didn’t wait for me to announce him—just went into the sergeant’s tent.”

     “What happened then?” Matthew said.

     “The major and the sergeant started talking,” Collins answered.

     “And were you privy to their conversation?” Matthew asked.

     “Not on purpose—but I could hear their voices clearly,” said Collins.

     “Were you eavesdroppin’, Corporal?” asked Matthew.

     “No!  It’s just—the tent flap was partly open, and the canvas walls are thin—“

     “So you couldn’t help hearin’ them?” Matthew said.

     “That’s right.”

     Matthew strolled a few steps up the aisle, then stopped and turned as he reached the third row.  He paused for a beat, then asked, “What was the topic of their conversation?”

     “They were talking about the trial,” the corporal answered.

     “This trial—Byron Sully’s trial?” Matthew specified.

     “Yes.”

     “How did they sound?” Matthew asked.

     “I’m not sure I understand,” Collins answered.

     “Were they calm, upset—maybe angry?” Matthew elaborated.

     “Well, the sergeant seemed pretty calm—but the major—he sounded kind of demanding,” Collins replied.

     “What did they say?” Matthew persisted.

     “Well, the major—he spoke first.  He said, they’d never get the charge of murder to stick.”

     “The charge of murder against Byron Sully?”

     “Yes.”

     “And by ‘they,’ did Major Morrison mean the army?”

     Collins nodded.  “I believe so, yes.”

     “All right,” Matthew said.  “Go on.”

     “Major Morrison said the judge would throw out the charge of murder, so they had to do whatever was necessary to make sure Byron Sully was convicted of treason.”

     “When the major used the term ‘they’ the second time, was he still referring to the army?” Matthew asked.

     “No, I don’t think so.”

     “Who did he mean, then?”

     “He seemed to be talking about himself and Sgt. McKay,” Collins explained.

     “I see, thank you.  Please continue,” Matthew told him.

     “Sgt. McKay asked the major what he meant.  Major Morrison wanted to know if it was true that Sgt. McKay was the only witness to Byron Sully’s presence at the reservation.”

     “Palmer Creek Reservation?” Matthew asked.

     “Yes.”

    “What did the sergeant say?”

    “He said yes, that was true.”

    “And what did Major Morrison say then?”

    “He said that was unacceptable—the army needed at least two witnesses if they were going to get a conviction.”

    “And what was Sgt. McKay’s reply?”

    “He said he knew that’s what the regulations stated, but the fact remained that he was the only one to see Sully.”

    “How did the major respond?” asked Matthew.

    “He said he’d never lost a case, and he wasn’t about  to lose this one on the basis of a technicality.”

    “What did the sergeant say to that?”

    “He said he was aware of the major’s reputation, but that the lack of sufficent witnesses was hardly a technicality.”

    “And the major’s response?” said Matthew.

    “He said, ‘Listen to me sergeant, and listen close.  General Wooden wants an end to this Byron Sully matter once and for all, and we’re going to see that he gets what he wants.’”

    “What was the major’s tone at this point?” asked Matthew.

    “He sounded kind of threatening.”

    “I see.  Go on.”

    “The sergeant said, ‘Meaning what?’  But Major Morrison didn’t answer his question.  Instead he asked the sergeant if there was a man in camp he could trust.  The sergeant said all his men were trustworthy.  Then the major asked if there was one man whose loyalty the sergeant could rely on absolutely.  And the sergeant said that would be his aide.”

    “Meanin’ yourself?” Matthew said.

    “Yes.  Then the sergeant asked why the major wanted to know.”

    “What was the major’s answer?” asked Matthew.

    “The major said, ‘You’re going to go to this man, and you’re going to order him to testify on the stand.’  The sergeant said, ‘Testify to what?’  And the major said, ‘He’s going to testify that he saw Byron Sully setting off the explosion that started the Indian revolt.’”

    Matthew regarded Collins closely.  “Are you sure that’s what Major Morrison said?”

    “Positive.”

    “I see,” Matthew replied.  “All right, Corporal, I want you to think about your answers to my next questions very carefully.”  He paused a moment, then said,  “Did you see Byron Sully settin’ off an explosion at Palmer Creek Reservation the day of the uprising?”

    “No, I did not.”

    “Did you see Byron Sully at all on that day?”

    “No.”

    “You’re certain?”

    “I’m certain,” Collins said clearly.

    “Do you know if Byron Sully even came to the reservation that day?”

    “I was told he did, yes.”

    “Who told you?”

    “Sgt. McKay.”

    “How did he know?”

    “He saw him.”

    “Sgt.McKay saw Byron Sully at the reservation?” Matthew clarified.

    “Yes.”

    “Did the sergeant tell you what Byron Sully was doing when he observed him?”

    “The sergeant said Byron Sully had his arm around one of the Indians, and he was helping him to get to some horses nearby.”

    “Which Indian?”

    “An Indian named Cloud Dancing.”

    “You said the sergeant saw Mr. Sully helpin’ Cloud Dancin’.  Had Cloud Dancin’ been injured?”

    “Not in the revolt.  But he’d been beaten real bad a few weeks before and he wasn’t completely recovered yet.”

    “I see,” said Matthew.  “So Sgt. McKay saw Byron Sully helpin’ Cloud Dancin’ to get to some horses.  To escape?”

    “That was the sergeant’s opinion, yes.”

    “What else did Sgt. McKay see Mr. Sully doin’?” asked Matthew.

    “Nothing.”

    “Nothin’?” repeated Matthew.  “The sergeant didn’t see Mr. Sully set off an explosion, or torch any buildins’, or fire on any soldiers?”

    “No.”

    “Did Mr. Sully have a gun?”

    “Not that the sergeant could see.”

    “All right,” said Matthew.  “So to recapitulate—Sgt. McKay witnessed Byron Sully helpin’ an injured Indian to escape from the reservation, but he did NOT witness Mr. Sully performin’ any other act—violent or otherwise?”

    “That’s correct.”

    “And you, personally, did not see Byron Sully on the reservation at all?”

    “No, I did not.”

    “But Major Morrison told Sgt. McKay to make you  testify on the stand that you saw Byron Sully set off the explosion that started the conflict,” Matthew stated.

    “That’s what the major said.”

    “So you’re saying that Major Morrison told Sergeant McKay to order you to lie?”

    “Yes.”

    The murmur that had been building among the spectators erupted into a shocked babble.  Judge Webster rapped his gavel repeatedly.  “Order!” he shouted.  “Or I will clear this courtroom!”  Reluctantly the on-lookers quieted, as Sully sat in stunned silence.  He looked at Morrison.  The major sat like a statue, but hectic spots of color had appeared in his blanched cheeks.

    Webster glanced at Matthew.  “You may resume, Mr. Cooper.”  Matthew nodded, and turned back to Collins.

    “To repeat—you heard Major Morrison tell Sgt. McKay he should order you to lie.”

    “Yes.”

    “There’s no doubt in your mind of Major Morrison’s meanin’?”

    “None whatsoever,” Collins replied.

    “And did Sergeant McKay agree to do what the major requested?”

    “First he said, ‘You’re telling me to ask one of my men to perjure himself?’”

    “And what was the major’s answer?”

    “He said, ‘I’m not asking—I’m ordering!   Get me that treason conviction!’”

    “Then did the sergeant agree to obey the major’s order?” Matthew persisted.

    “No, not exactly,” Collins replied.

    “What do you mean?’

    “After the major ordered Sgt. McKay to get him the treason conviction, he left.”

    “The major left Sgt. McKay’s tent?”

    “Yes.”

    “What happened then?” Matthew asked.

    “Sgt. McKay called me in,” said Collins.

    “And what did he say to you?”

    “He said, ‘You heard?’  And I said yes—it was hard not to.”

    “What was the sergeant’s mood at this point?”

    “He looked upset.  I asked him, ‘Are you going to do what he said, Sergeant?’”

    “And what was the sergeant’s reply?” said Matthew.

    “He didn’t say anything for a minute or two.  Then finally he said, ‘I will not ask you or any other man under my command to lie—not for me, not for the Major, not for the entire United States Army.’”

    “And what did you say?”

    “I said, ‘Won’t that get you into bad trouble?’  And he said, ‘We’ve already got trouble, Joe.’”

    “How did you respond?” said Matthew.

    “I said, ‘You know you can count on me, Sergeant.  Whatever you decide to do, I’ll back you up.’”

    “What did the Sergeant say then?”

    “He was quiet for a while, then he looked up at me and said, ‘I need to ask you to do something for me, Joe.  It won’t be easy, and I won’t hold it against you if you feel you can’t do it.’  I said, ‘Ask me.’  And he said, ‘Are you willing to get up on the witness stand and testify to everything you heard tonight?’  ‘I said, ‘You mean, testify against the major?’  And he said, ‘Yes.’”

    “And what was your response?” asked Matthew.

    “I said, if that’s what he wanted, that’s what I’d do.”

    “Why did the sergeant drag you into it?  He was the one who had the conversation with Major Morrison—he could testify himself to what was said,” Matthew argued, playing devil’s advocate.

    “He intended to, but he knew it would be the major’s word against his.  He needed my testimony to back him up if we were going to prove the major said what he said.”

    “Did you have any doubts or fears about going up against Major Morrison?” said Matthew.

    “I was scared, yeah, but I wasn’t about to let the sergeant face this alone.”

    “Did Sgt. McKay say anythin’ else to you?” Matthew asked.

    Collins looked suddenly embarrassed.  “He—he said I had a lot of guts—and then he thanked me.”

    “Anythin’ else?” said Matthew.

    “He said he needed to be alone for awhile, and we’d talk about my testimony later.  And I left.”

    “Did you and Sgt. McKay have any other conversations on this subject?” Matthew asked.

    “The next day, he asked me if I’d changed my mind, and I said no.  So we talked about my testimony.  When we were done, he warned me we needed to be careful not to let the major get wind of what we were planning.  He said it had to be business as usual, so Major Morrison would believe we were going along with him.

     “Then this morning, the sergeant said I could still back out if I wanted to, but I told him I was with him, whatever happened.”

    “When I put Sgt. McKay on the stand, will he corroborate everythin’ you’ve said here today, Corporal?” Matthew asked.

    “Yes, he will,” Collins asserted.

    “Is there anythin’ else you wish to add to your testimony?”

    “No—that’s all of it,” the corporal replied.

    Matthew nodded.  “I appreciate your candor—and your bravery, Corporal.  Thank you.”

     A hush had fallen in the courtroom.  All eyes, with the exception of the judge, were fixed on Morrison, who was staring straight ahead,  mouth slightly open, eyes unfocused.  Judge Webster’s head was bent—he almost looked as if he were asleep.  Finally he lifted his eyes and looked toward Morrison.

    “This is a very grave charge, Major,” he said quietly.  “Do you wish to challenge this witness?”

    Morrison didn’t answer.

    “Major?” the judge repeated.  “Do you wish to question Corporal Collins?”

    “It’s a lie,” Morrison mumbled, barely audible.

    “Major?”

    “They’re lying,” Morrison said, as if he hadn’t heard.  “Sully—he got to them.  He filled them full of his lies.  He’s a traitor, and he turned them into traitors.  He made them abandon their loyalty to the army and throw away their careers.”

    “Major Morrison—“ Webster tried again.

    “You’ll arrest them of course,” Morrison said matter-of-factly, rising to his feet.  “Obviously you can’t intend to take their word over mine.  It’s clearly a case of collusion.  Besides,  what are they?  A sergeant—and a *corporal*?  They’re nothing!—less than nothing.  I am a major in the United States Army.  I am a respected attorney, celebrated in Washington political circles.  Congressman, senators, even the President himself!— they all come to me—to *me*!--seeking my counsel and advice.”  He moved toward the judge’s desk, taking short, jerky steps, as if he were a wind-up doll.

    “How dare they spread lies about me!” he went on self-righteously, the volume of his voice escalating.  “How dare they think to disabuse me of my power and my reputation!

    “They won’t get away with it, you know,” he said to the judge, a menacing glitter in his eyes.  “They think they’ve won, but they won’t defeat me.  Many have tried—all have failed!  They’ll never defeat me!”  He raised his fists and shook them.

    “Sully . . .” Michaela whispered, staring at Morrison warily.  Her voice contained a clear note of warning.  Reflexively she reached for her medical bag, consternation crossing her face when she realized it wasn’t there.

    “I know,” Sully whispered back, watching Morrison with an expression of alarm tinged with pity.

    “None of you will beat me!” Morrison exclaimed with a maniacal smile.  “I’ll outlast you all!  I’ll—“  Suddenly he staggered.  Reaching out convulsively, he grabbed for the rail surrounding the altar.  It gave way with a resounding crack as his eyes rolled back in his head and he crashed to the floor.

    Michaela was on her feet instantly and moving to his side, as bedlam broke out in the room.  Andrew rushed to assist her as she knelt by Morrison’s body.  Michaela felt his throat for a pulse, then frantically started unbuttoning Morrison’s collar as Andrew reached quickly into his medical bag and withdrew his stethescope.  Morrison lay staring sightlessly upward, the right side of his face drawn down into a frozen rictus.

    Sully and Matthew hovered over them, quickly joined by the judge, Jake and Hank.  Their family and friends clustered close by.

    “What happened?” Sully asked Michaela as Andrew put the stethescope to his ears and pressed the bell against Morrison’s chest.

    Michaela’s eyes were grave as she looked up at Sully.  “He’s had a stroke,” she said.