Wednesday, 21 March, 1870

     I ain’t been able to write for some days now.  The morning after Dr. Mike told me about the changes in town, I woke up with a blinding headache—the pain so bad it seemed as if my skull would split apart.  I never felt nothing like it before—even the headache I had when I first woke up couldn’t  compare to this.

     Dr. Mike said it was something called a “migrim”—a real bad kind of headache.  She said I’d had one once before, but of course I couldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t say nothing more beyond that.

     It was so bad, even the light hurt my eyes, and Dr. Mike had to draw the shades and keep my room in darkness.  And I was desperately sick at my stomach.  Over and over, Dr. Mike had to hold my head while I vomited, till there wasn’t nothing left to bring up but bile.  But still my guts kept heaving.  I hated being so weak—hated her seeing me like that.  I pleaded with her to go away and leave me alone.  But she wouldn’t.  She said, “I’m staying with you, Sully.”  When I heard that, for just an instant, there was a familiar echo in my mind, like I’d heard her say those words before.  But then the pain hit again—so fierce that it blotted out everything else, till after a time all I could do was just pray for it to be over—or to die—whichever came first.

     Dr. Mike promised me I wasn’t dying—she said eventually the pain and sickness would pass.  But I had a hard time believing her.  During the worst of it, I begged her to go for Cloud Dancing, so that he could come and perform a healing.  But she said there were some problems with the army, and it wasn’t safe for him to be in town.  I wanted to ask her what was wrong, and why Cloud Dancing was in danger, but I felt so sick that even that didn’t matter after a while.

     I don’t know how much time passed while I was so bad off—but finally when the nausea started to ebb, and it seemed like I might be able to keep something down, Dr. Mike started giving me doses of willow bark tea.  I didn’t know at first what she was giving me.  Dr. Mike just handed me the cup and told me to drink it—she said it would help the pain.  When I tasted it, and recognized what it was, I was shocked.  I asked her where she got it from, and. how she knew about Indian medicine.  That’s when she told me she knew a lot about the herbs and the cures used by the Cheyenne, because Cloud Dancing had taught her.

    She told me about the first time she used the tea, during an influenza epidemic in the town.  She’d used up all her own medicine on the townsfolk, so when she got sick with the grippe, there was nothing left to give her.  She said that’s when I took her to Cloud Dancing, who performed a healing, and gave her the fever tea.  She said he saved her life.  After that, he started teaching her about the medicine, and she started using some of his remedies on her patients, and helping Cloud Dancing take care of his people.

     I keep being surprised by the things she knows, but I shouldn’t be.  I may have been floating in some cloudy place, trapped in the past, but the people around me have been going forward, living their lives.  Reminds me of another story my ma read to me when I was young, about a man named Rip Van Winkle, who went to sleep for twenty years.  When he woke up, he found that time had passed him by.  It ain’t that bad for me, but still I’m shaken when I think of how much the world has moved on without me.

     After I got to feeling a little better, I remembered the question I’d asked her about Cloud Dancing being in danger from the army.  I put the question to her again, but she said she thought it was best to hold off on that discussion, till I was stronger and feeling more like myself.

     I guess she’s got good reasons for keeping some things from me, but sometimes I can’t help resenting being treated like an invalid—or a child who’s too young to be told the truth.

     I suppose I got to be patient, though it’s hard.  Seems as if it’s hard for Dr. Mike, too.  I feel like I’m disappointing her.  She keeps looking at me with such expectation, so hopeful that I’m going to remember something from that missing time.  But I got nothing new to tell her.

     And so far, it seems like my writing in this journal is just a waste of effort.  I’m supposed to be trying to fill in the blanks, but all I can seem to write about is how strange and peculiar everything is, now that I’m awake.

     What’s happened to me?

* * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER FOUR

     Michaela watched Sully’s face become closed and still, and his eyes turn darkly menacing as he watched Custer’s approach.  The general rode toward them on horseback.  Lustrous blonde hair flowed to his shoulders, and a neat, manicured goatee concealed his chin.  Dominating his features was a prominent mustache, the ends meticulously waxed to wicked points.  His dark, wide-brimmed hat was cocked at precisely the correct angle, his hands were encased in immaculate white gloves, and a bright red scarf flared at his throat.  Michaela felt a wave of disgust course through her at Custer’s celebrated vanity, at his smug complacency.  But in that moment, even more than she despised him, she feared him.

     “Sully—“ she whispered urgently.

     “He can’t do nothin’ to us,” Sully murmured back, not taking his eyes from the military officer.  “Don’t fret.”

     “But what if he decides to follow you?” Michaela persisted anxiously, sweat beading her forehead and slicking her palms despite the cold.

     “It’s all right—I’ll handle this,” he responded evenly.

     Custer drew closer, carefully negotiating his way through the frozen ruts of mud obstructing the street.  Eyes fixed on the general’s visage, Michaela was at first unaware that he was not alone.  But Sully nudged her suddenly.

     “Look,” he whispered, nodding toward a point beyond Custer.  Michaela followed his gaze and saw that another man on horseback rode a few yards behind the flamboyant officer.  With astonishment, she realized it was an Indian.

     “A prisoner?” she queried Sully softly.

     “No,” he replied, studying the Indian pensively.  “See—his hands ain’t bound.  ‘Sides, if he were a prisoner, Custer’d  be draggin’ him along behind the horse, not lettin’ him ride up there in comfort.”

     Recalling the many examples she’d witnessed of the army’s harsh treatment of its Indian captives, Michaela had to acknowledge the truth of this statement.

     “Is he Cheyenne?” she asked.

     Sully shook his head slightly.  “No, not Cheyenne.  Sioux, maybe,” he speculated.  He sounded as perplexed as she.

     Custer finally reached them, reining his horse to a stop directly in front of where they stood.  In his wake, the Indian also reined in his mount a few paces beyond the general.  Sully studied the Indian, trying to make eye contact.  The Indian ignored his mute message, however.  He sat rigidly, dark eyes staring impassively ahead.  Glossy black braids framed the sharp planes of his face and hung down to his chest.  His mahogany skin was ruddy from the cold, and a gray-white hawk feather anchored in his hair nodded in the stiff breeze.

     Custer leaned forward in his saddle to address them.  “Dr. Quinn,” he said, touching one gloved hand to the brim of his hat.  “And Mr. Sully.  We meet again.”  He gave them a facile smile that did not reach his hooded, piercing eyes.

     “General Custer,” Michaela said stiffly.  Sully remained silent.

     The general raised an eyebrow..  “Hm—I see that your manners have not improved with time,” he observed to Sully.  “But then, we must consider the source, now, mustn’t we?” he added, directing his remark to Michaela.  She regarded him stonily.

    “I must say that it’s quite providential to find you both here,” Custer continued pleasantly, unfazed by their hostile reception.  “I was hoping our paths would cross—and here you are!  Almost as if you were anticipating my arrival.”

    “Don’t flatter yourself,” Sully said sharply.

    “I can’t think what you would want from us, Mr. Custer,” Michaela remarked, hoping her haughty manner was disguising the pounding of her heart.

    Custer glanced at Sully’s horse, patiently waiting with its burden of supplies.  He looked back at Sully.  “Going somewhere, Mr. Sully?” he inquired smoothly, ignoring Michaela’s remark.

    “Where I go or what I do ain’t none of your business,” said Sully flatly.

    “On the contrary,” Custer demurred.  “Anything that happens within the territory under my jurisdiction is very much my     business.  Especially if it affects the—‘situation’—with the Indians.   And we all know what a *friend* to the Indian you are, don’t we, Mr. Sully?”

    “I ain’t denyin’ it,” Sully said coldly.

    “Your loyalty to the red man is to be commended,” Custer said blandly.  “But so unfortunate that it’s so tragically misplaced.  Well, no matter.  So where exactly are you headed, Mr. Sully?” he queried, his eyes studying the other man avidly.

    “I don’t owe you any explanations,” Sully retorted.

    “Sully—“ Michaela cautioned softly.

    “There really is no need for such hostility on your part, Mr. Sully,” Custer said reasonably.  “However, I should warn you that my patience has its limits.  You would do well to listen to Dr. Quinn and refrain from antagonizing me.  So I’ll put the question once again:  what is your destination?”

    “Nowhere special,” Sully replied shortly.  “Just up in the hills.”

    “To do what, may I ask?”

    “Sully is going hunting,” Michaela interjected hastily, before Sully could speak.  “He often makes such trips.”

     Custer looked up at the ominous gray of the sky above, the bellies of the clouds heavy with unshed snow.  “The weather seems a bit—unforgiving—for such an excursion,” he observed.  “Not to mention that the likelihood of finding game seems remote, at best.  Of course,” he added slyly,  “I suppose it all depends on what type of ‘game’ you’re searching for.”

    “There’s game to be had—if you know where to look,” Sully said, ignoring the officer’s insinuation.

    “Such as?” the general said skeptically.

    “Such as deer that can’t find food under the snow in the high country, and get driven down out of the mountains.”

    “And are deer the *only* ‘prey’ you seek?” Custer persisted, relentlessly determined to trip Sully into some type of admission.

    “I answered your question,” Sully said stubbornly.  “Now you answer mine.  What do you want with us, General?”

    Michaela looked at Sully in alarm.  He seemed determined to bait Custer, regardless of the risk.  But to her surprise, Custer merely smiled.

    “I admire a man who’s blunt,” he commented.  “Very well—let us speak plainly.  There were certain members of the Cheyenne unaccounted for after the ‘engagement’ at Washita,” he elaborated.  “In particular, several dog soldiers—and your friend the medicine man, Cloud Dancing.  I have reason to believe he may be back in the area.  Would you have any information as to his whereabouts?”

    Michaela flinched as Custer said Cloud Dancing’s name.  But Sully’s expression never altered.  Inwardly, she marveled at his ability not to betray—by even the merest flicker of an eyelash—any consternation at the general’s allusion to their friend.

    “’Engagement?’” Sully repeated icily.  “Don’t you mean ‘slaughter?’”

    “I’ll ignore that,” Custer replied coolly.  He paused for a moment, his eyes penetrating, then said provocatively,  “You know, despite your claims to the contrary, Mr. Sully, I just can’t rid myself of the notion that the ‘game’ you’re hunting walks on two legs.  Why don’t you simplify things for both of us and tell me the truth:  you intend to rendezvous with Cloud Dancing—isn’t that correct?”

    “Go to hell,” Sully said clearly.

    “Sully!” Michaela breathed.

    But Custer only looked aggrieved, as if he’d done his best to be reasonable, but received only defiance in return.

    “One thing I’ll say for you, Mr. Sully—you’re nothing, if not predictable.  So be it.  But if I were you,” he admonished, “I would advise Cloud Dancing to turn himself in, and makes things easier for himself.  Because make no mistake,” he warned, his eyes boring into Sully’s.  “I *will* find him.  And I wouldn’t want to be in his position—or yours—if I am forced to hunt him down.

    “Good day, Mr. Sully.  And oh yes--*happy hunting.*”  He glanced toward Michaela.  “Dr. Quinn,” he added politely, doffing his hat to her once more.  He gathered up his horse’s reins and signaled to the Indian behind him.  Slowly, they moved off down the street.

    Michaela waited until they were well out of earshot, then turned to Sully.  “Why would you want to provoke him that way?” she burst out fearfully.  “Aren’t matters dangerous enough as it is?”

    “He just brings out the worst in me,” Sully said, his expression still lethal as he stared after Custer’s retreating figure.

    “I understand that,” Michaela said.  “I feel the same way.  But he’s a powerful man, Sully.  Powerful—and dangerous.  And you may have just succeeded in giving him cause to follow you.  What if he does, and you lead him to Cloud Dancing?  The repercussions could be devastating, for Cloud Dancing and for you!”
“Custer can do what he wants,” Sully said.  “He won’t find me, and he won’t find Cloud Dancin’.”

    “I wish I could be as certain of that as you are, but I can’t,” Michaela replied.  “I think it’s best if you postpone your departure, until you’re not such a target of his scrutiny.  After all, Custer must have other duties demanding his attention—certainly he can’t watch and wait forever.  A day or two’s delay might be much safer.  Please, Sully, take precautions—for *all* our sakes,” she implored.

    “I understand what you’re sayin’,” he replied.  “And I don’t want to be responsible for causin’ you more worry.  But now that we’ve told him I’m goin’ huntin’, it would look even more suspicious if I stay here in town.  But that’s not the worst of it.  Even a delay of just twenty-four hours could mean the difference between Cloud Dancin’ livin’ or dyin’.  If he’s out there, alone, with no way of knowin’ Custer’s after him, he can’t protect himself.  At least he’ll have a fightin’ chance if I can get to him first.

    “Fact is,” Sully went on thoughtfully, “I ain’t nearly so concerned ‘bout Custer trackin’ me or Cloud Dancin’, as I am ‘bout that Indian who was with him, and what it means.”

    “That was very mysterious,” Michaela agreed, momentarily diverted.  “Given Custer’s condemnation of the Indians, and his ‘fame’ as an Indian fighter, I find it impossible to comprehend why he would choose to have one as a companion.”

    “Exactly,” Sully said.

    “Perhaps Cloud Dancing will know something,” Michaela suggested.

    “He might,” Sully allowed, then shrugged.  “Well, there ain’t time now to worry about it—if I don’t leave immediately, I’m gonna lose the best part of the day.  Look after Wolf for me?” he added.

    “Of course,” she nodded.

    He put his hands on her shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes.  “You take care of yourself, and the kids,” he told her.

    “We’ll be fine,” she replied.  “It’s you who needs to take care.”

    “I will,” he promised.  “And I’ll be home ‘fore you know it.”  He pulled her to him and kissed her hard, then stepped down from the clinic porch and in one fluid movement, vaulted onto his horse’s back.  “I love you,” he added, his eyes locked with hers.

    “I love you,” she answered softly, swallowing back the tears that threatened to flow.

    Sully raised his hand in farewell, then turned the horse’s head toward the road out of town.  The animal began to bear him away, but not before he looked back at her once more.  Michaela put on a shaky smile  for his benefit, hugging her arms to herself against the chill she felt inside and out.  She watched his progress, feeling more bereft with every yard his horse put between them.  Too soon, he rounded the saloon and disappeared from her sight.

    “Please, God, keep him safe,” she prayed silently.  “Keep them both safe.”  Slowly, she turned and went back inside, shutting the door and drawing the curtains.  Alone in the gloom of the clinic, she sank down behind her desk and surrendered to her tears.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Sully made fairly good progress, his horse picking its way sure-footedly across the frost-hardened ground.  Once beyond the outskirts of Colorado Springs, he encountered few people, the bitter cold apparently having driven most of the town’s inhabitants indoors.  That suited him fine; the fewer people who saw him or noted the direction he was traveling, the better.  Most importantly, there was no sign of Custer or any other blue-coated riders to mark his passing.

    However Sully’s relief at having the landscape to himself was mingled with a persistent unease.  Periodically he glanced at the lowering sky, attempting to gauge how soon the thickly banked clouds might release their burden of snow.  He had to concede that Custer had at least been correct about the threatening quality of the weather—though agreeing with the general on anything filled him with disgust.  Sully wasn’t concerned about being caught in a snowstorm—he knew how to find or create shelter for himself.  Nor was he worried about losing his way.  He knew the countryside well, even when the familiar features of the terrain were concealed beneath a layer of white.

    But snow could still prove to be his undoing.  Under ordinary circumstances, he could blend in with his environment, using the natural grays, browns and greens of the rocks and foliage as camouflage.  But against a canvas of white, his presence would be as obvious as a solitary pea rolling around on an empty plate.  And though he was well practiced at covering his tracks, there was no way to conceal the trail of horse’s hooves or footprints he would leave in his wake.  Sully simply had to pray that the precipitation would hold off at least until he reached Cloud Dancing.  Once they were together, there were tricks the two men could employ to confuse or deceive anyone pursuing them.

    As Sully rode, he puzzled further on the enigma of Custer’s Indian companion.  He had told Michaela that he thought the Indian was a Sioux, but in truth he wasn’t sure.  In fact, the man seemed to defy classification.  The most curious—perhaps even sinister—thing of all was his presence at Custer’s side.  Try as he might, Sully could not understand why any Indian would willingly ally himself with a white man whose hands were stained with the blood of so many innocent Indian victims.

    Maybe Michaela was right.  Perhaps Cloud Dancing could shed some light on the mystery.  Still more reason for him to get to his brother as quickly as possible.  But first, he needed to find a safe and sheltered place to make camp for the night.

    Sully nudged his horse’s sides and hastened his pace up into the hills.