Sunday 25 March, 1870

     “Are you saying, ‘Where do you go from here?’” she asked me calmly, refusing to take offense at my tone.

     “Something like that,” I allowed.

     “Well of course that must be your decision, Sully, but you certainly have options,” she said.  “I promise you that things are not as hopeless as they seem.  It’s true that you’ve lost a piece of your past, but it may yet come back to you.  And I can assure you that you are *not,* as you claim, a man without a future.”

     “You couldn’t prove it by me,” I maintained stubbornly, still awash in self-pity.  “All my friends—all my family—are gone.  I got no home left with them.  And if you’re going to suggest I settle in town, then you don’t know me like you claim—I left town living behind a long time ago.  I ain’t cut out for that kind of life no more.”

     “I wasn’t going to suggest that,” she said mildly.

     “Then what?” I challenged her.  “I used to be a silver miner, but I’ll never do that again.  I suppose I could go back to living alone in the woods, like I done when my wife died, but that would be cold comfort after the life I had with the Cheyenne.

     “I got no work, and no skills—besides what I know about the land, and hunting and trapping.   Plus a little talent I got for carpentry.”

     “Hardly a ‘little’ talent,” she said.

     “That’s nice of you to say, but you ain’t no expert on carpentry—*are* you?” I added,  thinking that I wouldn’t put it past her to know as much about that as anything else.  There seemed to be no end to the talents of the uncommon woman who sat before me.

     But she only chuckled.  “No, I’m afraid I can’t count the art of carpentry among my gifts.  But I *can* recognize something that’s handsome or beautiful.   I’ve seen your work, Sully.  Some rather—extraordinary examples, in fact.”

     “So you’re saying I should become a carpenter?” I asked.

     “Only if that’s your wish,” she replied.

     “It ain’t,” I said bluntly.  “I mean, I like working with my hands and all, and it’s a good way to bring in a few dollars from time to time, but it ain’t what I want to do with my life.

     “The way I see it, Dr. Mike,  that don’t leave much else for me—except maybe to just pull up stakes and move on.  Ain’t nothing keeping me here—not any more.”

     “I realize it may appear that way, Sully, but it’s not true,” she told me.  “You *do* have a job here—and people that need you and depend on you.”

     “I can’t figure what job you could mean,” I said.  “And there’s nobody in this town who needs me.”  I sounded harsh, but I couldn’t help it.  With Cloud Dancing gone and all the Cheyenne dead, I couldn’t see the point to anything.

     “Well first of all, there are the children,” she reminded me.  “They love you very much.  Brian has always looked up to you, and you’ve been a mentor to Matthew, and a friend to Colleen . . .”

     “I—care about them too,” I admitted, feeling slightly ashamed.  “A lot.  But I can’t build a life around just being their friend, Dr. Mike.”

     “I understand that, Sully.  But the children aren’t the only people who need you.  There are others who need your care and attention as well,” she said.

     “Who?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

     She cleared her throat.  “Well, that’s a bit of a long story,” she replied.

     “Appears like I got plenty of time,” I said.  “But—I guess you don’t.  I know the children are waiting on you.”

     “Will you excuse me for a moment?” she said unexpectedly.

     “Yeah—I guess,” I said uncertainly.

     “I’ll be right back,” she promised, and left the room.  She returned less than five minutes later.

     “Now we can talk,” she said.

     “What about the kids?” I asked.

     “I told them to go on without me,” she answered,  removing her coat and settling herself in the chair by the bed.

     “But your plans—for dinner—“

     “I said I’d be there later—and that hopefully, you would be joining me.”

     “Dr. Mike, I know you mean well, and I’m obliged—but like I said, I ain’t really hungry and I ain’t much in the mood to be with people right now.”

     “Perhaps you’ll change your mind,” she said, undeterred by my objections.

     She reached up and took off her hat, laying it aside.  Then she removed the hairpins from the shining coil of her hair, so that it tumbled down over her shoulders.  She tossed her head, shaking the tresses loose so that they flowed down her back.

     I couldn’t take my eyes from the glorious sight of that hair, gleaming copper in the lamplight.  Any other time I’d  seen her, it had always been confined—twisted up on her head or pulled back from her face.  This was the first time I’d ever seen it cascading free.  And I felt like all the breath had been knocked out of me by the force of its beauty—of her beauty.

     “That’s better,” she said contentedly.  She adjusted her position in her chair, making herself comfortable.  “Now, where were we?”

     I must have been staring, because she leaned forward and looked at me closely.  “Sully?  Are you all right?” she asked in concern.

     I started, and dropped my eyes.  “Yeah,” I answered after a moment, when I could breathe again.  “I, uh—I must have been wool-gathering.”  I cleared my throat, stalling for time while I tried to compose myself.  Finally I was able to look at her without gawking like some kind of nervous suitor.  “So—you say I already got a job?” I asked casually—or what I hoped was casual, anyway.

     I guess I fooled her, because she relaxed and sat back.  “Yes, you do,” she replied.  “An important job.  At least I think it’s important, and so do some very special people who rely on you for your help.”

     I waited.

     “You’re an Indian Agent, Sully,” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER EIGHT

     Sully slept fitfully, rousing from time to time, though he couldn’t have said whether he was awake or dreaming.  Sometimes he saw the comforting face and penetrating eyes of Cloud Dancing leaning over him.  But other times it seemed that it was Michaela’s face he saw, reaching out to lay a cool and gentle hand on his fevered brow.  She was speaking to him—he could see her lips moving, but he couldn’t hear her voice.

     “What is it?” he croaked, forcing the words out of his sore and swollen throat.  “What are you tryin’ to tell me?”  Suddenly her image began to recede, and a crushing feeling of loss crashed over him as she was pulled from his reach.  “No—don’t go!” he implored, shiny tracks of tears on his flushed face.  “Michaela, come back!”

     Cloud Dancing sat close by his friend, watching gravely as Sully’s head tossed from side to side and he muttered to people only he could see.  Though he couldn’t make out most of the words, he could discern Michaela’s name clearly.

     He ardently wished she were here now.  He was racked with indecision about what to do for his desperately ill brother.  He had done what he could for Sully’s fever, but it continued to climb and he feared he would be unable to stop it.  Sully needed Michaela’s medicine.  He needed Michaela.

     Yet again Cloud Dancing debated within himself the wisdom of passing the night here in camp, till the morning light made it safer to travel; or leaving immediately to get Sully to Michaela as soon  as possible.  Sully was already very sick—Cloud Dancing believed that the time he had spent in the harsh cold had already harmed him.  Several more hours of exposure to the freezing nighttime temperatures in the mountains could kill him.  But if he attempted to take Sully back by night—the darkness shrouding any possible danger—and they were ambushed . . .  His friend could be just as dead.

     The medicine man thought of a conversation he’d had with Michaela shortly before he embarked on his vision quest to the Black Hills to make peace with his son’s death.

     (Michaela knelt on the ground, inhaling the fragrance of a tiny plant in her hands.  She stood, and they began to stroll along together.

       “What do you when one of your plants doesn’t work?” she asked him.  “When it doesn’t cure the person?”

       “That tells you things are out of balance,” he replied.  He gestured with his hands.  “You need to heal the whole person.”

       “How do you do that?”

       “Call on the spirits,” he said.

       “I don’t know how to call on the spirits,” replied Michaela.  “And truthfully I’m not sure that I believe they exist,” she confessed.

       “You believe that prayers can heal,” he stated.

       “Well, yes.”

       “And you believe that—love can heal,” he added significantly.

       “Well, I certainly believe that,” she admitted, her eyes slightly bashful.

       “There is love in your eyes right now,” he told her.)

     Cloud Dancing had been calling on the spirits, but he was beginning to wonder if Sully, in his anger, had been right—that the spirits had forsaken them.  And he had to admit that the love he bore for his brother would not be enough to save him.  Only one person’s love could do that—and right now she was far away.

     Sully began to cough again, and Cloud Dancing quickly rolled him onto his side so that he wouldn’t choke.  He held onto his brother tightly as the cough and chills racked his body again and again.  Finally, when Sully’s paroxysm of coughing had spent itself,  Cloud Dancing gently returned him to his former position, tucking the blanket firmly around him.  He rose and went to Sully’s horse, pulling the Indian blanket from its back.  Quickly he folded and rolled the blanket into a cylinder, then slipped it beneath Sully’s neck to elevate his head and upper body.

     The movement caused Sully to open his eyes, but they were clouded and unfocused, and Cloud Dancing knew that his friend was not truly conscious.

     “Thirsty,” Sully rasped, barely above a whisper.  Cloud Dancing held Sully’s canteen to his mouth, allowing a tiny rivulet of water to dribble over his parched lips.  A painful grimace crossed Sully’s face as he swallowed, then he fell back, exhausted, his eyes closing again.

     Cloud Dancing placed his hand on Sully’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him.  He had to make a choice, and Sully’s life depended on whether he made the right one.

     He would wait a little longer, he decided— to give Sully more time to rest, and to see if the bark tea would finally begin to work and lower his fever.  But then, no matter what happened, he would take his brother back to the only person who could help him now.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

     Michaela stood by the window, watching as dusk leeched the light from the day.  In her mind, she tried to picture Sully’s face, thinking that if she could only see him clearly, she might be able to tell where he was and what was happening to him.  But for some reason, his features eluded her.  Only her  worry remained.  Tending to Brian had helped a little, keeping her dark feelings at bay for a short while.  But her anxiety hadn’t departed.  If anything, it was even more ominous and cloying than before.

     “Can you hear me, Sully?” she thought.  “Oh please—please hear me.  Tell me where you are—tell me you’re all right, and that I’m being foolish.”  But the only sound she heard was the ticking of the clock on a nearby shelf.  She scrubbed at her face with her hands.

     Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned to see Matthew coming through the curtain.

     “How’s Brian?” she asked, assuming what she hoped was a serene expression.

     “He fell asleep durin’ the third chapter,” Matthew replied.  “Colleen’s sittin’ with him for a bit.”

     “Is she feeling all right?” Michaela inquired.

     “Says she’s fine,” Matthew said.  He crossed the room to stand beside her.  “More to the point, how are you’?” he asked.  “You feelin’ any better?”

     “Not really, no,” Michaela confessed.

     “He’ll be all right, Dr. Mike—you gotta believe that,” Matthew told her earnestly.

     “I’m trying to, Matthew—I truly am.”

     “I can still go after him,” her son offered again.  “It’s too late to start out now, but I can leave first thing in the mornin’—all you gotta do is say the word.”

     But Michaela shook her head.  “No, Matthew.  I won’t risk your safety.  And Sully wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger trying to find him.

     “Besides—I need you,” she said haltingly.  “As long as you’re here, I feel like I can find the courage to deal with all this.  If I were alone, I’m—not sure what I would do.”

     “You’d be strong,” Matthew assured her gently.  “Just like you always been.  And who knows—maybe Sully can feel your strength, and that’s what’s gonna keep him safe and bring him back to you.”

     “Do you really believe that?” Michaela asked him, her green-gold eyes looking pleadingly into his.

     “I believe in you,” he said.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

     The light was nearly gone, and with it Cloud Dancing’s hopes that Sully’s condition would start to improve.  He was certain now that Sully, burning with fever, was too weak to withstand a night’s exposure to the frigid temperatures here in the higher elevations.  Regardless of the limited visibility and the possible danger, they would have to risk starting back to Colorado Springs now, if there was to be any hope of Michaela helping Sully.

     Cloud Dancing’s thoughts chased each other around and around in his mind.  His concern was not limited only to Sully’s condition.  He also had grave worries about Sully being able to withstand the trip itself.  It would be slow and arduous going, with Sully’s horse being forced to bear the double weight of both Sully and himself.  Clearly, Sully was too ill to sit a horse on his own, which meant that Cloud Dancing would need to ride behind him, holding him upright—at least until they came down out of the mountains, when he would be able to construct a travois to bear Sully the rest of the way.  Cloud Dancing recognized one important advantage to riding double; by riding together the two men would be able to share their body heat—not necessary for his own survival, but possibly vital to Sully’s.

     However the medicine man was concerned about keeping Sully astride the horse. Cloud Dancing was strong, and he had borne Sully’s weight in the past—most notably when Sully had been nearly beaten to death by the buffalo skinner Rankin.  He could do it again—he *would* do it again—or anything else in his power to save his brother.

    But they faced several long hours of travel over rough terrain, in severe cold.    There was the very real possibility of frostbite.  Cloud Dancing had to consider what might happen if the cold began to affect his senses—or worse, if his strength were to give out, from trying to support the heavier weight of Sully’s unconscious body.  Either development could have disastrous consequences for them both.

    And Sully had been drifting in and out of consciousness.   What if he finally lost consciousness and didn’t wake up?  There were many miles to cover before they reached home.  And the longer that Sully was exposed to the numbing cold, the less he would be able to fight against the sickness that ravaged him.

    The medicine man could see only one solution.  It would do nothing to cure Sully’s illness, but it might keep him alive long enough to reach their destination.

    Cloud Dancing had to try to rouse him—to get Sully conscious enough that he could help to maintain his own balance as they rode, thus taking some of the physical burden off himself.  And if Cloud Dancing could keep Sully awake—even just semi-conscious—the danger would be lessened that his friend might sink into a sleep from which he’d never awaken.

     The medicine man busied himself with packing up his few supplies.  He waited to extinguish the campfire, using its heat till the last moment to keep Sully warm.

     Cloud Dancing leaned over Sully, placing one hand on his baking forehead while using the other to gently shake his brother’s fitfully sleeping form.

     “Sully,” he said softly.  “Sully, you must wake up now.  It is time for us to go.”

     There was no response.  Sully’s delirious mutterings seemed to have subsided for the moment, but Cloud Dancing could see his eyes continue to dart back and forth beneath his closed eyelids as he remained trapped within his fever dreams.

     “Sully!” Cloud Dancing said more sharply.  “Sully—wake up!”

     Still his friend did not respond.  Cloud Dancing felt a stab of fear, wondering if Sully had already traveled beyond his reach.  Would his younger brother join the spirits before he even had the chance to bring him home to Michaela?

     Not if he could prevent it, he determined grimly.  Sully was young and strong, and had everything to live for  Even if, right now, his spirit—like his body—was weak.  Cloud Dancing refused to accept that his brother was ready to let go of life—there must still be some fight left in him.

     The medicine man took a deep breath, then looked up at the rapidly darkening sky, asking forgiveness from the spirits—and from Sully—for what he was about to do.

     He leaned over Sully once more.  “Sully, wake up,” he repeated.  “Michaela needs you!  Sully—Michaela is in danger!  She needs you!”

     Sully stirred slightly, but didn’t open his eyes.

     “Wake up, Sully!” Cloud Dancing spoke again, nearly shouting in his brother’s ear.  “Michaela is in danger—she needs you!  YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE HER!”  Cloud Dancing stared into Sully’s face, searching desperately for a sign that his words were penetrating his brother’s delirium.

     (Sully moved through a gray and featureless landscape—with no color, form or landmark to guide his steps.  Nothing but nebulous clouds that billowed and twisted about him in ever changing and shifting patterns.

     Slowly he revolved in a circle, straining his eyes for a glimpse of some sign that would show him where to go, or lead him out of this dreamy nothingness.  But the roiling grayness shrouded him on all sides, keeping its secrets.

     With no trail to follow, Sully could only move forward, extending his hand before him as if reaching out for something—what, he couldn’t say.

     Time, distance—neither had meaning here.  He didn’t know how long he journeyed through this murky landscape, his destination—and his purpose—a mystery.

     Gradually a sound began to come to his ears; and with it, the sight of a vague shape somewhere far ahead.  The sound grew, increasing from the faintest of whispers to a steadily increasing rumble.  Simultaneously the shape began to resolve itself from a smoky shadow into something—someone—familiar.

     He recognized Cloud Dancing.  The medicine man’s form was hazy and indistinct, but as he watched, it began to solidify, assuming depth and proportion.  His friend and mentor waited for him, his hand stretching forth as if to lead Sully out of this mysterious wilderness.  Cloud Dancing’s lips slowly moved, and in that instant Sully became aware that the sound echoing hugely all about him was his brother’s voice, the words reverberating in his ears like thunder.

     Sully struggled to comprehend Cloud Dancing’s message—the words rolling toward him steadily like waves on the ocean, booming and crashing as they reached the shore.  But only one sound—one word—made sense.

     MICHAELA.  Like a magnet, the sound of her name pulled him forward.  The shifting clouds began to flow together, spreading rapidly up, down and all around as a pattern began to emerge from their depths.  Michaela’s face filled his vision—ghostly, transparent—and frightened.

     SULLY, she beckoned to him.  SULLY, I love you.  SULLY!--I NEED you.  Help me . . . )

     “Michaela,” he muttered, becoming agitated as Cloud Dancing watched.  And then again, with a mournful longing, “Michaela . . .”

     “That is right,” Cloud Dancing told him.  “You must help Michaela.  You must go to her.  I will take you to her, but first you must wake up.  Wake up now, Sully.  Wake up!”

     (Cloud Dancing seized Sully’s hand and pulled him violently forward.  The features of Michaela’s face flew apart as the medicine man punched a hole in the grayness and pushed Sully through.)

     He lay in a cold, dark place, alternately shivering and burning as he was wracked by chills and seared by fever.  But he was alive—and he needed to reach Michaela.  He struggled to open his eyes, the lids feeling as heavy as iron.

     “Yes!” Cloud Dancing encouraged him, chafing his hands.  “You can do it, Sully!  Open your eyes.  Open your eyes and speak to me.”

     Slowly, arduously, Sully complied.  For a moment his eyes wandered, unfocused, as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.  But finally his eyes found Cloud Dancing’s, locking with his as if holding onto a lifeline.

     “Cloud Dancin’,” he whispered, convulsively squeezing the hand that clung to his.

     “Yes, my brother.  I am here,” Cloud Dancing told him, gripping Sully’s hand tightly, as if to infuse all his strength into the sick man’s body.

     “Michaela,” Sully managed over the pain of his swollen vocal chords.  “She . . . she needs me.”

     “We all need you, Sully,” Cloud Dancing told him.  “That is why you must try your best to get up, so we can leave this place.”

     Sully nodded weakly.  “Yeah.  I got—to get to Michaela.  Help me up.”

     The medicine man slipped his arm around Sully’s back and lifted him slowly to a sitting position.  Sully braced himself against Cloud Dancing as a wave of dizziness washed over him.  His head swam and buzzed with fever, and he clung to Cloud Dancing’s supportive arms as he waited for the vertigo to pass.

     Finally his head began to clear.  Cloud Dancing held his canteen to his lips, and Sully gratefully partook of the cool water, even as the act of swallowing made him groan softly

     “I know there is much pain, but you must drink as much as you can,” the medicine man told him, offering the canteen to him again.  Sully nodded, and forced himself to swallow a second time, then a third.  Mercifully, the pain in his throat began to dull, anesthetized by the water’s soothing balm.

     Cloud Dancing wrapped Sully’s blanket firmly around him, then held out the cup containing his medicinal tea.  “Try to drink some more of this, “ he urged.  “We must try to bring your fever down as much as possible.”

     Sully nodded again, and sipped carefully from the cup.  He still felt chills, but they were not so overwhelming as before.  His cough had quieted for the moment as well, though there was a heaviness in his chest that secretly worried him.  However, he could not think of that for now.

     As his disorientation began to abate, his confusion increased.  What could have happened to Michaela?  And how did Cloud Dancing know she was in trouble?  Had he received a vision from the spirits?

     “Cloud Dancin’,” he spoke with difficulty.  “Tell me . . . ‘bout Michaela.”

     His friend’s eyes were somber.  “My brother—forgive me,” he said penitently.  “For the first time, I have lied to you.”

     “What do you mean?” Sully asked, his voice low and rasping, his eyes bewildered.

     “Nothing has happened to Michaela,” Cloud Dancing confessed.  “What I said about her being in danger was false.  It was the only way I could think of to reach you, and pull you from the arms of the sickness that threatened to take you away.”

     “S-She’s all right?” Sully managed.  “There’s no danger?”

     “Not to Michaela.  But there is great danger to you,” Cloud Dancing said gravely.  “You must gather all your strength for the journey home, Sully.  You need Michaela’s medicine.  It is the only thing that can help you.”

     “I don’t—understand what happened,” Sully said.  “How I got so sick . . .”

     “You must have carried the sickness with you when you came to me,” Cloud Dancing told him.  “Two days travel in the cold weakened you, so that you could not fight it off.”

     “Cloud Dancin’—I . . . don’t know . . . if I can make it,” Sully ventured slowly, feeling his mahta’sooma—his shadow—looming very close.

     “You will make it,” his brother told him, his eyes steely and determined.  “Do not fear, my brother.  We will ride together.  I will get you home.”

     “The Son of the Morning Star said you would be hard to find, and harder to kill,” spoke a cynical voice from out of the darkness.  “He was wrong.  You are no challenge.”

     Into the glow of the campfire stepped Bloody Knife.