Sunday 25 March, 1870

     She tapped on my door the following morning, while I sat in the dark, the shade pulled down to the sill to shut out the light.  When I didn’t answer, I heard the handle turn as she eased the door open.  I watched the crack of light from the hallway become a stripe, then a bar, and finally broaden into a fan spreading out across the floor.

     She was still for a few moments, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom.  She must have thought I was sleeping, because she jumped when I spoke.

     “It’s all right—I ain’t asleep,” I said out of the shadows.

     “Sully?” she said, taking a tentative step into the room.  “Are you all right?”  A pause—then, anxiously, “Do you have another migrim?”

     She stood silhouetted in the doorway, the light from behind framing her like a halo and throwing her features into shadow.  Though I couldn’t make out her face, I could feel the worry coming off her.

     “No,” I said.

     She took another ginger step forward.  “Then why are you sitting in the dark?” she asked.

     “Why not?”

     Her voice when it came again was cautious.  “It’s rather hard for me to see you, “ she said.  “Would you be willing to raise the shade?”

     “I’d just as soon not,” I answered.  There was a brief silence.

     “Well then—perhaps we could light the lamp?” she spoke again.  “We don’t have to turn it up high—just enough so that we can make out each other’s faces.  Would that be acceptable?”

     I considered it for a moment.  “All right,” I assented.

     I watched the dark shape of her move carefully across the room to the nightstand.  A second later there was a hiss as a match erupted into flame.  The small, intense light threw jumbled shadows on the walls and turned her eyes to black against her pale cheeks.

     She lifted the globe of the lamp, and touched the match to the wick, then replaced the glass as she shook out the match and turned down the flame to a soft glow.

     I saw for the first time that she was dressed sort of fancy, and it took a moment before I realized  it was Sunday.

     “You been to church?” I asked.

     “Yes—we just returned,” she said.  “We thought perhaps—you’d like to join us for Sunday dinner.  I know how much you’ve been wanting to get out of the clinic. The fresh air would do you good, and you might enjoy a change of scene.“

     “I—ain’t hungry,” I answered.  “Thanks all the same.”

     “You need to eat,” she said.  “And sitting here alone isn’t good for you.”

     “It’s all I’m good for,” I said.

     “What are you talking about?” she asked.

     “Cloud Dancin’s in hidin’, the Cheyenne are gone—and not only couldn’t I help them, I can’t even remember what happened to them!” I burst out.  “All I can do is sit here, useless.”

     She stared at me.  “Sully, that’s not true!  You were injured trying to help Cloud Dancing.”

     “Did him a lot of good, didn’t I?”

     “He’s alive,” she said strongly.

     “Well, that makes one of us,” I said.

     “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice tense and alarm touching her eyes.

     “I ain’t feeling very ‘alive’ right now, Dr. Mike—and I don’t feel very much like talking either, if it’s all the same to you.”

     She came over and sat beside me on the bed.  “Sully, listen to me.  I know you’re deeply sad right now.  You’re grieving for your family.  It’s only natural that you’re melancholy.  But it will get better—I promise.  In time—“

     “’In time?’” I repeated.  “Time’s got no meaning for me, Dr. Mike.  I’m a man *out* of time.  I lost part of my past and I ain’t got no future.  Time’s passed me by.”

     “Sully, it isn’t like you to indulge in self-pity,” she began.

     “No?” I said, looking her in the eyes.  “Well, what *is* ‘like me,’ Dr. Mike?  You seem to know everything, have all the answers.”

     “Sully, I never claimed to know everything—“

     “Well you know a lot more than me,” I interrupted.  “’Course that ain’t such a trick—*everybody* knows more than me.  Still, you’re the only one here.  So you tell me—what happens now?”

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER SEVEN

     As they moved along, Sully tried to speak to Cloud Dancing.  But the wind assaulting their faces made speech impossible, stripping his words away the instant they left his lips.  He finally contented himself with toiling along behind his friend, waiting till an opportunity presented itself for them to talk.

     After they had been walking for about a half hour, Cloud Dancing signaled him to stop.

     “We will rest for a moment,” he called, looking back over his shoulder.

    Sully nodded in relief, feeling unaccustomedly winded for the amount of time they had been traveling. He followed the medicine man over to a copse of trees, where he tied up his horse and then dug into his saddle bag, bringing out a sack of oats.  He filled a feedbag and slipped it over the horse’s nose.

     The two men huddled together next to the horse, using the animal’s bulk as a barrier against the wind.  Cloud Dancing’s hands were concealed within the folds of his sleeves.  Sully wrapped his arms around his chest, secreting his gloved hands in his armpits.

     “Cloud Dancin’—about Custer,” he said.

     “Uh hunh,” his friend replied.

     “You said you saw him in town.  Did you see another man with him—an Indian?   Looked like maybe a Sioux?’

     “Yes,” Cloud Dancing confirmed.

     “Do you know anythin’ about him?  Who he is, or what he’s doin’ with Custer?”

     “I do not know him, but I know of him,” his friend answered.  “He is called ‘Bloody Knife.’  He is part Hunkpapa Sioux, part Arikara—or Sahnish, which is what the Arikara call themselves.  But he claims his Sahnish blood.  He comes from the northern Dakota territory, near the upper banks of the river called the Missouri.”

     “What’s he doin’ ridin’ with Custer?” Sully asked.

 “He scouts for the army, like many other Arikara and Crow,” Cloud Dancing replied.

     “I never could figure why some Indians choose to be scouts.  Why would an Indian join with  men who are exterminatin’ his  people?” Sully asked, confounded by the idea of such a bizarre alliance.

     Cloud Dancing shrugged slightly.  “Each man has his own reasons,” he said.  “But many join with the army to gain the freedom to hunt and move on the plains without fear of being attacked and killed by other tribes.  Many Sahnish enlisted in the army, and were valued because of their skill as warriors.

     “It is said that at one time, the Sahnish nation was so large and fierce that other tribes moved out of their way when they moved across the prairie,” he went on.  “When the whites first came, many of the tribes of the Upper Missouri welcomed them and accepted their trinkets.  But the Sahnish were hostile to the whites.  Soon, the whites began to blame the Sahnish for all Indian attacks and raids.”

     “All the more reason for the Sahnish to hate them,” said Sully.

     Cloud Dancing nodded in acknowledgement.  “The Sahnish repaid the hate of the whites with vengeance, and tried to wipe out all white men from their homeland.  Until they were struck down by many of the white man’s diseases.  The worst of these was the sickness you call smallpox.

     “Soon, only three villages of the Sahnish nation were left.  They joined with the people who remained of the Hidatsa and Mandan tribes, to protect themselves against stronger tribes who had escaped the smallpox and preyed on their weaker brothers, stealing their food and horses.

     “But then they fell victim to the same false promises from your government that destroyed my people.  The treaties they signed with the government took away their weapons.  In return, the government promised them food and protection.  But the government agents stole the food from the mouths of the people.  Many women and children starved.”

     Sully’s expression was grim as he listened to the sad, familiar story.  “It just don’t make sense,” he argued.  “White men nearly destroyed the Sahnish with their diseases, and the government starved their people by not honoring its treaties.  Yet warriors like Bloody Knife were still willin’ to scout for the army.”

     “I cannot speak for all such scouts, but it is said that Bloody Knife saw his brothers murdered by other tribes, and determined to become a superior warrior to survive,” said Cloud Dancing.  “And he hated being confined to the reservation.  He believed the army would give him the freedom he sought.  So he learned the military skills of the army and became a scout for the 7th Cavalry.”

     “Custer’s unit,” Sully said darkly.  “So that’s how they got together.”

     The medicine man nodded again.  “Bloody Knife soon earned the long-hair’s admiration.  He became known as Custer’s ‘favorite scout.’”

     “Even so, I don’t see how Bloody Knife could make a friend of a white man who murdered so many Indians,” Sully maintained.

     “Bloody Knife admired the long-hair’s fighting skills, as Custer admired his.  They formed a special bond,” Cloud Dancing replied.

    Sully was silent for a few moments.  “Should we be worried about him?” he asked finally.

     Cloud Dancing nodded.  “He can be a dangerous enemy.”

     “More dangerous than Custer?”

     The medicine man nodded again.  “He knows things the yellow-hair does not.  How to read signs and track his enemies.  He is Custer’s ‘eyes and ears.’  And  he will not be fooled by the tricks we use against the whites.”

     “All the more reason, then, for us to get you back to the North,” Sully urged.  Suddenly, without warning, he began to cough, the effort doubling him over slightly and leaving him breathless.

     Cloud Dancing studied his friend’s face keenly.  There was a distinct bluish tinge around Sully’s lips, contrasting with the tightly drawn skin over his cheekbones, which was parchment white.  Dark smudges of fatigue ringed his eyes.

     “We cannot linger here,” Cloud Dancing told him.  “We must get you to where it’s warm.”
 

     “You w-worry t-too much,” Sully said, his teeth starting to chatter.  “J-just like—Michaela.”

     “It is—‘part of the job’,” Cloud Dancing replied with a small smile.  But the smile vanished and his eyes darkened with concern as Sully started coughing again.

     “We must go,” he insisted.  He grasped the horse’s reins and led the way as they turned their faces into the wind and started walking once more.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

     Matthew took Michaela’s hand and led her back to the table.

     “What are you doing?” she asked.

     “You need to relax,” he said, pulling out her chair.  She sat, as he moved to the stove and fetched the coffeepot.  He brought it to the table and refilled her cup.  “Drink some,” he urged.

     After a moment Michaela complied, taking a small sip.  Matthew seated himself across from her.

     “Do you want me to go after him, Dr. Mike?” he asked.

     Michaela looked up at him, startled.  “After Sully?” she said.

     “Yeah,” Matthew replied.  “It’s true he’s got a day’s head start on me, but I’m willin’ to try to find him if it’ll make you feel better.”

     “Absolutely not,” Michaela declared.

     “Dr. Mike—“

     “Matthew, it’s bad enough that Sully and Cloud Dancing are in danger,” she interrupted him.  “I won’t risk you, too.”

     “But Dr. Mike, I ain’t never seen you like this before—I’m worried about you,” he said.

     “I’m sorry I troubled you,” she said.

     “No need for apologies, Dr. Mike,” he told her.  “We’re family—you can tell me anythin’.  And if you need somethin’, all you gotta do is ask.”

     “I’m grateful for that,” Michaela said, tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes.  “You don’t know how much.  But I would be far more distressed if I had to worry about all three of you out there in the wilderness.”

     “If you’re sure,” Matthew said reluctantly.

     “I am,” Michaela replied, putting her hand over his and summoning a small smile.

     “Well—is there anythin’ else I can do for you?” Matthew asked.

     Michaela nodded.  “Yes,” she said, a catch in her throat.  “You can pray.”

* * * * * * * * * *

     The water was bubbling furiously in the small pot over Cloud Dancing’s cooking fire.  Sully huddled as close to the flames as he dared, a blanket from his bedroll wrapped around him over his coat.  Despite his proximity to the heat, his teeth continued to chatter, and he was seized by intermittent fits of coughing.

     From a medium leather drawstring bag, Cloud Dancing withdrew an even smaller fringed pouch.  He reached inside, grasping a handful of herbs, and crumbled them into a metal cup.  Wrapping a cloth around the handle of the pot, he took it gingerly off the flame, then poured the boiling water over the cup’s contents.  A cloud of steam arose, bringing with it a pungent, slightly medicinal aroma.

     “W-what is it?” Sully asked, nodding toward his friend’s concoction.

     “Something to help the cough,” Cloud Dancing replied, taking yet another pouch from his bag and adding some of its contents to the brew.

     “W-what else are you p-puttin’ in there?”

     Cloud Dancing looked up at Sully’s drawn face, his cheekbones now flushed with ruddy spots of color.  “Willow bark—for your fever,” he said quietly.

     “You don’t g-gotta go to so much t-trouble,” Sully protested.  “I j-just got a t-touch of somethin’—I’ll be f-fine.”

     “You will not be if you remain in this cold,” Cloud Dancing warned, handing him the cup.  “We must get you back to town.”

     “I ain’t goin’ b-back,” Sully said, the liquid in the cup sloshing slightly in his trembling hands.  “I ain’t l-leavin’ you, Cloud Dancin’.”

     “Michaela would never forgive me if I allowed you to make yourself sicker by continuing to travel with me,” his friend noted.

     “A l-little of your m-medicine will fix me right up,” Sully answered.  “And M-Michaela don’t n-never need to know.”  He took a swallow of the tea defiantly.

     “I am sorry, my brother,” Cloud Dancing told him regretfully.  “But your journey with me ends here.  Tomorrow I will take you back to Colorado Springs.”

     “C-Cloud Dancin’—“

     “It is decided,” the medicine man said firmly.  “Drink the tea and then try to sleep.  I will stand watch.”

     Sully stared at him in frustration, but decided not to argue any more—at least for the moment.  The truth was, he didn’t really feel up to it.  His head was starting to ache, and he was becoming aware of a scratchy soreness in his throat.  A steadily increasing sensation of heat inside him also confirmed Cloud Dancing’s observation—he did have a fever, and it was climbing.

     Why did this have to happen, he thought, filled with self-loathing.  Why now, when his brother needed him most?  Weren’t things bad enough without him getting sick and jeopardizing Cloud Dancing’s safety even further?   Well, he’d simply have to get better, and prove to his friend that he was well enough to keep going.

     I’ll be all right tomorrow, he thought.  He surrendered to his weakness and exhaustion, lowering himself to the ground and curling up by the fire.   His body continued to shiver beneath the blanket.

    Tomorrow, he thought again.   After he’d had a little rest . . .  He closed his eyes.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Brian opened the side door and came into the cabin, looking wan.

     Michaela and Matthew glanced up sharply as he appeared, hastily plastering casual expressions on their faces.

     “Pup finally wear you out, little brother?” teased Matthew, smiling at him.

     Brian shook his head.  “Nah.  I just wasn’t feelin’ so good, so I came in.”

     Michaela’s eyes kindled with concern.  “What is it, Brian?”

     Brian came over to her.  “My throat feels kinda sore, and my head hurts a little,” he said.  “I’m kinda hot, too.”

     “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Sweetheart,” Michaela said sympathetically.  “Let’s have a look, and see what’s wrong.”  She glanced toward her older son.  “Matthew, would you bring the lamp over please?”

     “Sure,” said Matthew, jumping up to fetch an oil lamp from a nearby table.  He brought it to Michaela, who turned up the flame more brightly.

     “Can you hold it up for me, just like this?” she asked.

     Matthew nodded, holding the lamp steady as Michaela drew Brian closer to her.  She gently probed the glands on either side of his throat, then laid her hand on his forehead.

     “You do feel a little warm,” she commented.  “Now open your mouth, Brian, as wide as you can, and say ‘ah,’” she instructed.

     “A-h-h-h,” Brian repeated.  Michaela peered into the recesses of his throat.

     “Your throat is definitely red,” she confirmed, after examining him carefully.  “It appears as if you’re coming down with a slight catarrh.”

     “Is it bad?” the child asked anxiously.

     His mother smiled reassuringly.  “No, Sweetheart, it’s not too serious.  You’ll probably feel a little uncomfortable for a day or two until the catarrh has run its course, but with some medicine and bed rest, you’ll soon be as good as new.”

     “Do I get to miss school?” Brian said hopefully.  Matthew chuckled and Michaela had to smile, as well.

     “Well, if this cold snap we’re having keeps up, it looks as if everyone might be missing school,” she said.  “However, until you’re recovered, you won’t be able to attend school, no.”

     “Great!” Brian exclaimed.  Then, hastily adopting a more solemn expression, he added, “I mean, that’s too bad.”

     “Try not to be *too* depressed about it,” Matthew said drily.

     “I won’t,” Brian answered, missing the sarcasm, and Matthew shook his head, grinning.

     “I want you to put on your nightshirt and climb into bed,” Michaela said.  “After you’re tucked in, I’ll bring you some of Cloud Dancing’s fever tea, with some nice honey for your throat.  How does that sound?”

     “Good,” Brian answered.  He looked up at his brother.  “Will you read to me, Matthew?”

     “I guess I could be persuaded,” Matthew allowed, rumpling Brian’s hair.  “Now go on and get into bed.”

     “All right,” Brian agreed.

     “Brian—don’t get too near Colleen,” Michaela cautioned.  “We don’t want this to spread, if we can prevent it.”

     “Okay, Ma,” the boy replied and disappeared through the curtain.

     “How are you feeling, Matthew?  Is there any sign that you might be catching this as well?” Michaela asked, studying him critically.  Matthew shrugged and shook his head.

     “Nope—I feel fine,” he answered.

     “That’s a relief,” his mother sighed.  “I’d better check Colleen, however.  Even though I told Brian to keep his distance, it may already be too late.  She’s been exposed to him, so she could also come down with this at any time.  Unfortunately, once a catarrh strikes one person in a family, it often goes through everyone before running its course.”

     “Never rains but it pours,” Matthew said.

     “So it would seem,” Michaela replied.

     “Are you all right, Dr. Mike—what with Sully and all, and now Brian gettin’ sick?” Matthew asked, his eyes tinged with concern.

     Michaela nodded.  “I hate to see Brian ill, but actually, tending to him will help to keep my mind off my worries about Sully,” she admitted.

    “I’d better start brewing the fever tea,” she added.  “And I believe Brian is waiting for you to read him a story.”  She raised her eyebrows at Matthew, giving him a little smile.

     “On my way,” her son replied.  Unexpectedly he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

     Michaela raised her hand to the spot and looked at him gratefully.  “Thank you, Matthew,” she said softly.

     “No charge,” he said.