“A stroke?” Sully repeated.  His expression was somber.

     “You mean he had one of them ruptures—like Loren?” asked Hank.

     “I’m afraid so,” Michaela responded to them both, then looked back at Morrison again, grasping his wrist.

     “Is he alive, Dr. Quinn?” the judge asked soberly.

     “Barely,” she replied.  “We need to get him to the clinic.  Hank, Robert E., Jake?  Can you help us please?”  The men nodded their assent as they grouped around Morrison, preparing to raise and carry him out of the church.

     “I’ll help you,” Sully offered quickly.

     “I don’t believe—the judge will permit that,” Michaela said hesitantly, glancing up at Webster.

     “I’m afraid Dr. Quinn is right, Mr. Sully,” the judge confirmed.  “You will need to remain here under guard until the major receives medical attention and I can make a decision about the disposition of your case.”

     An expression of frustration and guilt crossed Sully’s face as he was reminded of what they were all doing there.  Feeling helpless, and worse—useless—he reluctantly stepped back.

     “We should get a wagon,” Michaela advised, observing Morrsion’s condition with concern.  “I believe it may be too dangerous to carry him all the way.”

     “I agree,” said Andrew.

     “Hank—why don’t you go on ahead and procure a wagon?” Michaela suggested.  “You can clear the people out of the way so he can be moved more easily.”

     Hank nodded and strode rapidly up the aisle.  Robert E. moved to Morrison’s head and bent down to slide his arms under the man’s shoulders as Jake took his feet.

     “Careful,” Andew cautioned.  “Try to keep him as still as possible.”

     Gently Jake and Robert E. lifted Morrison’s body, the cords standing out in their necks as they bore his weight.  Slowly they transported him up the aisle, followed by Andrew.  Michaela hung back a moment and went to Sully.

    “I’ll try to return as soon as possible,” she said softly, looking up at him.  He summoned a small smile.

    “Do what you gotta do,” he answered, taking her hand and kissing the palm.  “I’ll be waitin’.”  Michaela touched his cheek and smiled at him supportively, then hastened out of the church.

     Several knots of people continued to stand around uncertainly; several more remained in their seats.  The judge surveyed them.

     “I suppose I’d better make some sort of announcement,” he said, half to himself.  Moving to his desk, he faced the room and called out, “Ladies and gentlemen—your attention please!  This court is  still in session.”  He reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a pocket watch.  As he noted the time, he added, “We will recess for . . . two hours, while Major Morrison receives attention, and I deliberate my ruling in this case.  At the end of that time I hope to give you news of Major Morrison’s condition, and I will render my decision.  We shall reconvene at one o’clock.”  He briefly rapped his gavel.  The people remaining in the church began to file out amid a buzz of conversation.

     A short while later, the eager crowd of onlookers had mercifully dispersed.  Many of the men had gone to the Gold Nugget to drink and dissect the events of the morning.  Women and families had gravitated toward the meadow, where they spread blankets on the ground and set out picnic lunches. An almost holiday atmosphere prevailed.  Sitting on the church steps, watching the picnickers, Sully was struck again by the sad irony that his trial, and Morrison’s fight to live, amounted to little more than a morning’s light diversion for these people.

     Matthew and Cloud Dancing sat on the steps with him.  Two of McKay’s men stood a few yards away, discreetly standing guard.  The three men were quiet, as if each of them was having a difficult time grasping what had happened, and was unsure how to begin talking about it with the others.

    “I can’t believe McKay risked his career for me like that,” Sully finally said after a while.  “Goin’ against Morrison, not knowin’ what would happen to him.”

    “I’ve underestimated him all along, that’s for sure,” Matthew admitted  “When he came to me earlier with the information about Morrison, I even asked him if he was sure he wanted to do this.”

    “What did he say?” asked Sully.

    “He said he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.”  Matthew looked at Sully.  “How did you know?” he asked.

    “Know what?”

    “That you could trust him?  Even back at the beginnin’, you seemed to know somehow.”

    Sully thought about it, trying to analyze his feelings.  “I didn’t know—not exactly, anyway.  It was more of a hunch.  I guess—the way McKay tried to help Cloud Dancin’ when he was beaten—that was my first inklin’.  It was McKay’s first act after he was put in charge at the reservation.  I ‘spose that’s what made me think there was somethin’ more to him inside.”

    “He was fair,” Cloud Dancing said.  “He carried out the army’s rules, but he did not allow his men to mistreat anyone.”

    “He bent the rules for me—even when he thought he had reason to do otherwise,” Sully commented.  “Truth is, under the circumstances, he was a lot better to me than I probably deserved.  Think he’ll get in any trouble?” he added to Matthew.

    “I don’t think so,” Matthew answered.  “I think the judge respects what he did, comin’ to me with the truth.  And now, with Morrison . . . “ he trailed off, not wanting to voice what they all were thinking—that Morrison might be dying.  “Well, anyway, no one’s gonna be bringin’ charges against him,” he added.

    “So what happens now, Matthew?” Sully asked.

    “It’s hard to say,” Matthew said honestly.  “Of all the ways I imagined this trial might go, I never pictured this.  Judge Webster could declare a mistrial, I guess, but that would mean a new trial, and thanks to Collin’s testimony, the judge knows the army doesn’t have the evidence it needs.  The fairest thing would be for him to drop the charges or dismiss the case—but what happened to Morrison might—complicate things.”  He shrugged.  “I just don’t know.”

    Sully turned to Cloud Dancing.  “Did the spirits tell you what was gonna happen—with the trial or with Morrison?” he asked.

    “I did not know what would happen,” Cloud Dancing admitted.  “I knew only that I must be here, and that Matthew and one other would play a part in your fate.  But the closer I got to town, the more strongly I felt that the spirits were protecting you.”

    “What about now?  What do the spirits tell you?”

    Cloud Dancing smiled slightly.  “They tell me I must be patient and wait for the judge, just like you,” he said.

    Sully returned the smile with a rueful one of his own.  “I guess the spirits don’t always give us the message we want,” he said.

    “No, but it’s often the message we need,” his friend told him.

    “Dr. Mike!” Matthew said suddenly.  Sully followed Matthew’s line of sight and spotted Michaela crossing the bridge.  He got to his feet, wishing he could go to meet her, but forced to wait as she made her way across the grass to where he was standing.

    Michaela drew closer, and Sully was able to make out her expression.  She looked tired—and defeated.

    As she approached, Sully spread his arms and Michaela walked into them.  He enclosed her in his embrace.  “He didn’t make it, did he?” he said  to her softly.

    Michaela clung to him for a moment, then pulled back to look up into his face.

    “He died about ten minutes ago,” she said wearily.  Her eyes were dark with sorrow.  Regardless of the fact that this man had been her husband’s enemy, Sully knew how much it pained Michaela to lose a patient—any patient.

    “I know you did your best,” he told her comfortingly.

    “Yes, Andrew and I both tried, but the damage was too severe,” she acknowledged.

    “I ‘spose this is another death the army can lay at my door,” Sully said.

    “No, Sully—you are not responsible for what happened to Major Morrison,” Michaela said firmly.

    “It was my trial that brought on his stroke,” Sully reminded her.

    “If you’re going to take that line of reasoning, then you might just as well argue  that it was Sgt. McKay’s decision to defy him, or Corporal Collin’s testimony, that sent him over the edge,” Michaela pointed out.  “Sully, I can’t say this for certain, since I didn’t have the opportunity to examine the major before his collapse, but I have a strong feeling that a stroke was imminent.  I’m willing to wager that his blood pressure was dangerously high—and had been for a long time.  His temperament, his excess weight—which no doubt caused a strain on his heart—even his florid coloring when he became angry—all these things could be interpreted as danger signs of an impending stroke or heart attack.  Andrew and I concurred that had it not been this experience, something else surely would have provoked his collapse—and most likely sooner, rather than later.”

    “Thanks for sayin’ that—it makes me feel a little better,” Sully told her.  “But the judge or the army may not be as understandin’ as you.”

    “I’ve already explained the facts of Major Morrison’s condition to the judge—he was there when the major died,” Michaela said.  “Andrew concurred with my diagnosis..  Surely, the judge—and even the army—won’t discount  the opinions of two physicians.  Even if one of them *is* a woman,” she added wryly.

    “Not just any woman,” Sully said tenderly, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it softly.  She smiled up at him.   Holding fast to her hand, he led her over to the steps.  They sat down together, below Matthew and Cloud Dancing.

    “Where’s the judge now?” Sully asked her.

    “He and Sgt. McKay went to the telegraph office to wire the major’s family, and make arrangements to transport the body back to Washington,” Michaela replied.

    “Wonder what they’ll tell his family,” Sully said.  “The major told McKay he’d never lost a case.  It’ll been even harder for his family if they know that the last case he ever tried is the one that killed him.”

    “I’m sure McKay and the judge will find a gentle way to break the news, and keep the major’s reputation—intact,” Michaela replied.

    “Did Webster give any hint of what his rulin’s gonna be?” Matthew asked.  Michaela shook her head.

    “To borrow a phrase from Hank, Judge Webster plays his cards very close to the vest,” she commented.  “He was polite, but reserved.  However, I believe he will consider all the facts very carefully in making his deliberation.”

    “Guess we just gotta hope for the best,” Sully said, resigned.

    “Matthew made an excellent case for your defense, Sully,” Michaela said.  “I just know that his words, in addition to the corporal’s testimony,  will weigh heavily in your favor.”

    “You’re right about Matthew,” Sully agreed, glancing up at his stepson in gratitude and admiration.  “I couldn’t have had a better lawyer arguin’ my side.”

    “All I did was let the judge know what kind of man you are, Sully—and what kind of man Morrison was,” said Matthew.   “Webster ain’t a fool—he’ll draw the right conclusion “

    “I agree,” offered Cloud Dancing

    “And what about that ‘women’s intuition’ of yours?” Sully said to Michaela, smiling gently.   “What’s that tell you?”

    She slipped her arms around his waist and looked lovingly into his eyes.  “It tells me that soon I’ll be bringing my husband home for good,” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *

    “I call these proceedings back to order,” announced Judge Webster, rapping his gavel briefly.  The assembled spectators watched him expectantly.  Webster folded his hands and stared soberly at the court.

    “First, it is my sad duty to inform you that Major Morrison passed away a little over an hour ago,” he said.  “Dr. Quinn and Dr. Cook tell me that the major’s death was caused by the rupture of a blood vessel in his brain, resulting in a stroke.  Apparently, nothing could be done.

     “Sgt. McKay and I have wired the major’s family, and are awaiting a reply.  Under the circumstances, we felt it served no useful purpose to inform the major’s wife and children of his—transgressions.  Major Morrison had a noted and distinguished career, spanning more than two decades.  The sergeant and I have agreed that in view of his accomplishments, and for the sake of his family, the major’s public reputation deserves to be preserved, untarnished by his final act.”

     “Beggin’ your pardon, Your Honor,” Matthew spoke up, getting to his feet.

     “Yes, Mr. Cooper?”

     “The defense—sympathizes with your desire to spare Major Morrison’s family,” Matthew began carefully.  “But are we to understand from your comments that you and the army intend to—‘whitewash’—the major’s actions?  Omit any mention of them in the public record, as if they never happened?”

     “I intend to ‘whitewash’ nothing, Mr. Cooper,” the judge replied.  “Even though I would prefer to believe that it was the major’s incipient illness that caused this—aberration—in his behavior, it  still  does not excuse his actions.

    “Major Morrison’s attempt to force Sgt. McKay and Corporal Collins to perjure themselves, will be a significant part of the record of this trial, and will be part of the major’s military record as well.  However, after this is over I intend to recommend to the army that those records be sealed, so that they can never be made available to the public, or even to the major’s family.  It is beyond the power of this court to exact any punishment against Major Morrison now—that judgement must come from God.  But I personally have no desire to see his family punished in the press, or to be the cause of the major’s final disgrace.”  He paused, as if considering his next words very carefully.

    “However, as to the revelation of the major’s act and its bearing on this case,” he resumed.  “I confess that today’s events have presented a unique challenge to me.  In all my years on the bench, I have never been faced with such a situation.  There are no precedents, no rules of jurisprudence, to guide me in my deliberation.  Under ordinary circumstances, the act committed by Major Morrison would automatically be cause for a mistrial.  But the facts revealed by Corporal Collin’s testimony indicate that there was only one witness to Mr. Sully’s presence during the uprising at Palmer Creek Reservation—and no witnesses who can testify that he either set the explosion which started the revolt, or that he committed any acts of violence against the soldiers involved.  Corporal Collins also indicated that Sgt. McKay—if he’d had the opportunity to testify—would have corrobated his remarks.

    “Army regulations clearly specify that there must be at least two witnesses to an overt act of treason, to convict,” Webster stated.  “Simply put, this means that without enough witnesses, the army has no case.  Therefore, no purpose could be served by trying this case again.

    “I also have heard compelling evidence from Mr. Cooper and the Indian Cloud Dancing—supported by Sgt. McKay—to suggest that Mr. Sully’s presence at Palmer Creek—while clearly an act of trespass—was not a true act of treason—at least in the conventional sense that we define the word.  Mr. Sully’s actions seem to more accurately fall under the category of an act of compassion—misguided, to be sure—but born out of a desire to help, not harm.”  Webster paused again, to allow the audience to absorb his remarks.

    “After much deliberation of all the aspects of this case, I find the only conclusion I can reach is to dismiss the charge of treason against Byron Sully.”

    There was an immediate reaction in the courtroom.   Sully was overwhelmed by family members and friends hugging and congratulating him, as he sat in a state of shock, hardly daring to believe he’d heard correctly.  Over the babble of excited voices came the sound of Webster’s gavel again.

    “Quiet!” the judge said sharply.  “I have not finished!”

    The noise from those assembled gradually died down, but even Judge Webster’s ire was not enough to stifle the happiness of Sully’s loved ones.  They regarded him joyfully, with tear-stained cheeks and beaming faces.

    “There still remains one charge against Mr. Sully—that of trespassing on the reservation in defiance of the orders of General Wooden,” the judge reminded his listeners.  “Under the circumstances my first instinct was simply to throw out this charge, as well.  But I feel compelled to remind Mr. Sully that his decision to go to Palmer Creek Reservation—regardless of how well-intentioned—was still reckless, and a premeditated violation of the general’s order.”  He fixed his gaze on Sully.

“Mr. Sully, please stand.”  Sully complied, meeting the judge’s eyes resolutely.  Webster continued, “Byron Sully, I find you guilty of the charge of trespassing on Palmer Creek Reservation, and hereby sentence you to one month in jail—“  He paused.  “—suspended.  You are free to go.”  He banged his gavel.

“Sully!” Michaela exclaimed rapturously behind him.

“Thank God!” came Rosalind’s voice simultaneously.

Sully closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and inhaling the sweet scent of freedom—the first time in months he had known that feeling.  But before he could allow himself to celebrate with those he loved, there was something he had to say.

“Your Honor!” he said quickly.  “May I please speak?”

Webster, in the act of rising to leave, hesitated and then took his seat again.  “Very well, Mr. Sully,” he replied.

Sully looked at Webster earnestly.  “First, Your Honor, I want to thank you for your wisdom and compassion.  I consider myself a very lucky man, and I pledge to you that I will not make such a reckless mistake again.  In spite of my good intentions, I needlessly hurt a lot of people—my wife, my family, my friends—as well as countless townspeople, Indians, even soldiers.”  He was quiet a moment, then went on, “You’ve been very kind,Your Honor, not to punish me for what I’ve done.  But I feel that I can’t truly be—free—till I . . . make an act of contrition.  Therefore, I’d like to state for the record that I intend to make restitution to all those I’ve hurt—by helpin’ them rebuild their homes, their businesses, whatever they need—at my own expense.”

Webster appraised him thoughtfully.  “Well, Mr. Sully, it seems you’ve provided me with yet another *first* in my career—I have never had a defendent *ask* to be punished before.  However, I am impressed by your sincere desire to make amends.  Very well—let the record state that you will offer your services, gratis, in any way necessary to those people who have been adversely affected.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “You’re a very unusual man, Mr. Sully.  If you can manage to stay out of trouble from now on, you should go far.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Sully said, slightly abashed.  He bit his lip, then added, “Your Honor—one more thing?”

“Yes?” Webster responded.

“Your Honor, there’s still the matter of Cloud Dancin’—can I ask if he’s to be punished, or if he’ll be allowed to return to the Northern Cheyenne territory?”

“Ah, yes—Cloud Dancing,” the judge echoed, looking toward the medicine man.  “I suppose my magnanimity towards you should extend to your friend.  Yes, he is free to go back to his people—no charges will be levied against him.”

“I’m grateful, Your Honor.  But could I respectfully request—that is—would you be willin’ to grant Cloud Dancin’ the freedom to stay on here in Colorado Springs, if that’s his wish—or the freedom to go anywhere else he chooses?  He’s suffered so much, Your Honor, and he was willin’ to give up his one chance at freedom, for my sake.”

The judge studied Sully for a long moment.  “All right,” he said at last.  “I hereby rule that Cloud Dancing is a free man, allowed to travel where he will.  I will sign a declaration to that effect, which will serve as incontrovertible proof of his status.”

“Thank you, Your Honor—I’m in your debt,” Sully said in a rush.

“No thanks are required, Mr. Sully—just prove to me by your future conduct that I made the correct ruling here today.

“I hope you will take my next words in the spirit in which they’re intended, Mr. Sully—but I hope *never* to see you again.  And *that,* ladies and gentlemen, concludes these proceedings,” Webster stated with finality, banging his gavel for the last time.

It was over.