Sunday 25 March,1870

     “Beg your pardon?” I said, thinking I must have misheard.

     “You are an Indian Agent, Sully,” Dr. Mike repeated.  “By special appointment of President Grant.”

     I started to chuckle.  “Sure,” I said, shaking my head at the absurdity of it.  “And who’s joining us for supper today—Queen Victoria?”

     “That’s quite humorous,” Dr. Mike said drily.

     I flashed her a look of apology.  “Sorry,” I said.  “No offense meant.  Fact is, you spin a good yarn, Dr. Mike.  But with all due respect, I’d never work for the army.”

     “Indeed?” she replied.  “But in fact, isn’t that what you were doing when you were a sniper in Georgia?”

     My head snapped up in shock.  “How do you know about that?” I demanded sharply.

     Her expression immediately turned remorseful.  “I apologize, Sully.  I know that was cruel.  I simply wished to prove to you that I was not—‘spinning a yarn’—as you put it.”

     “I ain’t never told anyone about that—except for Cloud Dancing,” I said coldly, still unsettled at what she’d said, and unwilling to be placated.

     “But you *did* tell me, Sully,” Dr. Mike said quietly.  “You had no choice.  I needed to know the truth so that I could help you when you were—arrested for desertion.”

     I stared at her in silence.  After a long moment I managed to speak.

    “I think you’d better tell me everything you know,” I said.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER NINE
 

     (Michaela drifted through a gray, featureless void, surrounded by tattered remnants of cloud that constantly flowed and shifted about her.  What was this place, she thought, straining to see to the horizon.  Except there was no horizon.  Only endless gray, stretching as far as her sight could reach.

     Then slowly, out of the pale mist, darker images began to appear.  Indistinct at first, they slowly sharpened and solidified, till she could see the silhouettes of three men in the distance, one apart from the others.

     The two men standing together were familiar.  Sully! she thought joyfully.  And Cloud Dancing!  Oh thank God, I found you!

      But who was the other figure?  And why did she suddenly feel such a sensation of menace as she looked at him?

     Michaela glided forward, feeling an intense compulsion to reach Sully and warn him—but of what, she couldn’t say.  She only knew there was danger here, and that he and Cloud Dancing were the targets.

     With excruciating slowness, she approached the three men.  As she drew closer, she became aware that something was wrong with Sully.  Like Cloud Dancing and their adversary, he stood upright.  But he was not so much standing as swaying on his feet, as if he would collapse at any moment.  In shock and dismay, she realized he was deathly ill.

     Cloud Dancing and the stranger were speaking.  She could see their lips move, but no sound reached her ears.  As she watched, she became aware that the unknown man was familiar after all.  She had seen him somewhere before.

     Just then, the stranger raised his arms.  In his hands, he held a rifle.

     She looked on in horror as he pointed it toward Sully.  Suddenly Sully attacked him, bringing up his own arm to knock the rifle from the other man’s grasp.  But his adversary resisted, his strength easily overpowering Sully’s.  They grappled together, each with his hands on the rifle’s stock.  Suddenly, with a blinding flash, the rifle exploded.

     Sully dropped like a stone, as blood appeared in his blonde-brown hair.

     NOOOOOO! she screamed.)

     “No!” Michaela screamed, bolting upright in the rocker by the fireplace.  The afghan which had been covering her slid to the floor as she clutched the arms of the chair convulsively.

     Matthew and Colleen jumped up from where they’d been sitting at the dining table and rushed to her.

     “What is it, Dr. Mike?” Matthew said urgently, as Colleen knelt beside Michaela’s chair and took her hand.  “Did you have a nightmare?”

     The color had drained from Michaela’s face, and her heart thundered in her chest.  Rigidly she stared into the flames as Colleen gently stroked the hair off her brow.

     “It’s Sully,” Michaela said woodenly after a moment.  “I finally know what’s happened to him.”

* * * * * * * * * *

     “We have no quarrel with you.  Why would you wish to harm us?” Cloud Dancing said calmly, refusing to show fear, though inwardly his gut clenched at the sudden appearance of the army scout.  Feverishly he tried to think of a way out of their dilemma, which had so radically changed from dangerous to desperate—even as he was filled with shame and anger at his failure to keep watch and protect Sully and himself.

     “The enemy of my friend is my enemy,” Bloody Knife stated.  Shadows leaped and capered across his face in the firelight, transforming his eyes into dark, bottomless pits.  His hair, unfettered, fell past his shoulders, as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing.

     “The long-hair is not your friend,” Cloud Dancing told him gravely.  “He uses you for his own ends, to hurt your own kind.”

     “He honors my skill as a warrior,” said Bloody Knife.

     “He flatters you,” Cloud Dancing said.  “He tells you what you want to hear so that you will do his evil work for him.”

     “You are smug and filled with pride,” Bloody Knife retorted.  “You accuse me of hurting my  people, but you show no remorse for the blood on your own hands.”

     “Cloud Dancin’ wouldn’t hurt no one,” Sully rasped, speaking up for the first time.  “He’s a man of peace.”

     The scout’s menacing eyes fell on him.  “Where was this ‘man of peace’ when Custer fought the Cheyenne at the Washita?” he asked.  “Did he stand with his people?  No—he was nowhere to be found!  He is a coward.”

     “Cloud Dancin’s the bravest man I’ve ever known!” Sully exclaimed, insensitive for the moment to the dizziness and fever that sought to overcome him.  “It’s the ‘men of peace’ that have the greatest courage—like Cloud Dancin’ and Black Kettle.  Not like Custer, who builds his reputation on the murder of innocent people!”

     “He is weak,” Bloody Knife maintained, ignoring Sully’s protest.  “He could not even protect himself, or you.”

     “He’s worth a hundred of you!” Sully spat, then doubled over as a violent fit of coughing shook his frame.

     Cloud Dancing’s eyes went to him in alarm.  “Do not harm yourself further defending me, my brother,” he implored.  “Save your strength.”

     “Do not worry,” Bloody Knife spoke again.  “He will not need his strength for long.  Nor will you.”  From behind his back he withdrew a rifle.  Slowly and deliberately, he raised and aimed it at the medicine man.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “What is it, Ma?” Colleen asked softly, continuing to gently stroke her mother’s hair.  “What’s wrong with Sully?”

     Michaela started, and looked guiltily into the innocent face of her daughter, belatedly recalling that she’d withheld the truth from Colleen about Sully’s crisis.

     “Oh—Colleen—“ she began in confusion, still affected by the lingering remnants of her dream.

     “It’s all right, Dr. Mike,” Matthew spoke up from the opposite side of her chair where he hovered solicitously.  “I told Colleen the truth—while you were sleepin’.  I figured—she had a right to know.”

     “But not Brian?” Michaela said, looking up at him anxiously.

     “No, not Brian,” Matthew repeated soothingly.  “No need to upset him sooner than we have to.”

     “It may be much sooner than we thought,” Michaela said bleakly.

     “What is it, Dr. Mike?” Matthew asked again, watching her soberly.  “What did you see?”

     “In a moment,” Michaela forestalled him.  She turned back to her daughter, reaching out to lay her hand on Colleen’s arm.

     “Colleen—I owe you an apology.  I suppose I thought I was protecting you, but I should have been truthful with you from the beginning.  You’ve always been a tower of strength to Sully and me.  I should have realized that this time would be no exception.”

     “It’s all right, Ma,” Colleen told her, placing her hand over Michaela’s.  “Sully’s the only thing that’s important.”

     “Dr. Mike—can you tell us now about Sully?” Matthew asked quietly.  Michaela was silent for a long moment.

     “It was the Indian—the one I told you about, who we saw with Custer,” she said finally.  “He followed them.  He had a rifle—“

     “I know what a scary thing that must have been for you to see,” Matthew interjected gently.  “But Sully’s strong, and he’s smart.  You know that, Dr. Mike.  He can defend himself—just like he’s done a dozen times before.”

     “But that wasn’t all,” Michaela whispered.  “He was ill, Matthew.  Desperately ill.  It resembled the catarrh that Brian contracted—but so much worse, like a virulent case of influenza.”  A vision of Sully’s fever-wracked face arose in her mind’s eye.  “He was standing, but he looked on the point of collapse.  And then—“  She broke off, seeing the blinding flash of the rifle as it discharged, then Sully’s lifeless body falling as blood darkened the blonde of his hair.

     “What?” Matthew urged softly.

     “Sully tried to knock the rifle from the Indian’s grasp,” she went on.  “But he was so weak—he was no match for the Indian.  They struggled over the rifle, and then suddenly—it went off.  Sully—Sully fell.  And there was blood—in his hair . . .”  Tears slipped down her cheeks.

     “What about Cloud Dancin’?” Matthew asked, squeezing her shoulder sympathetically.  “What happened to him?”

     “I don’t know,” Michaela replied, trying to compose herself.  “I didn’t get the chance to see.”

     “That settles it,” Matthew said grimly. “I’m goin’ after Sully at first light.”  He glanced at his mother, anticipating her objection, but was greeted instead by a gritty look of determination in her eyes.

     “Yes,” Michaela agreed.  “And I’m coming with you.  Colleen,” she added, turning back to her daughter, “I’ll need you to nurse Brian.  Can you do that for me?”

     “Of course,” Colleen answered.  “I’ll take good care of him, Ma—I promise.”

     “I know you will,” Michaela said, managing to summon a watery smile of thanks.  “But I don’t want the two of you out here all alone.  We’ll take you to the clinic before we leave, and I’ll ask Grace and Robert E. if they can look after you both until we return.  I’ll need extra medical supplies anyway.”

     “Makes sense,” Matthew concurred.

     “Ma—I know how real this—vision—must have seemed to you,” Colleen said hesitantly.  “But—couldn’t it have just been a dream?”

         “I would give anything to believe that, Colleen, but I can’t.  Somehow . . . I’ve been allowed to see what’s happened to Sully,” Michaela replied.  “And I know in my heart that everything I witnessed was true.”

     “Do you have any idea where he is, Dr. Mike?” Matthew asked.

     Michaela shook her head.  “But I know some of Cloud Dancing’s special  places,” she said.  “We’ll try them all, if we have to.”

     “Whatever it takes,” Matthew agreed.  He hesitated a moment, then added, “You think there’s any chance it ain’t happened yet—Sully gettin’ shot, I mean?  You think we got a chance to stop it?”

     “I hope so,” she whispered.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

     “On your feet,” Bloody Knife commanded, gesturing toward Cloud Dancing with the barrel of the rifle, which he held loosely clasped in his hands.  The medicine man carefully stood.

     “And you,” the scout added, pointing the rifle at Sully.  The barrel snaked across his palms like some kind of poisonous reptile.

     “My brother is very sick,” Cloud Dancing objected.  “He is no threat to you.  Spare him, and I will do whatever you ask.  I will trade my life for his.  It is me that Custer wants.”

     “You are a fool, as well as a coward,” Bloody Knife told him, smiling thinly.  “The Son of the Morning Star wants you both.  In fact, I believe that he wants *this* one even more.”  He jerked his head toward Sully.  “Get up!” he ordered.

     “No!” Cloud Dancing snapped, unleashing his anger for the first time.

     “Cloud Dancin’—it’s all right,” Sully managed.  Somehow finding the strength within himself for Cloud Dancing’s sake, he laboriously got to his feet, staggering as an intense wave of vertigo washed over him.  Cloud Dancing watched him helplessly.

     “Sully is too ill to stand alone,” Cloud Dancing objected.  “Since you mean to kill us both, let me at least support my brother.”

     “So that you can attempt some trick?  I do not think so,” Bloody Knife answered.  “However, if you are so worried about him, I will put him out of his misery.”  He raised the rifle once again.

     Another fit of coughing took Sully, and he stumbled to one knee.  Startled, Bloody Knife’s finger squeezed convulsively on the trigger and the rifle fired, the shot going wild.  Instantly, Sully was on his feet, rushing toward the Indian.  Caught off balance, Bloody Knife stumbled backward, unable to get off another shot before Sully reached him and struck outward, trying to knock the rifle from the Indian’s grasp.

     But with no strength behind it, Sully’s blow landed harmlessly.  Instinctively his hands shot out, grabbing for the weapon, even as black spots pinwheeled across his vision and he felt his senses begin to desert him.

     Desperately Sully held onto the shreds of his consciousness as he grappled with Bloody Knife.  But the Indian’s superior strength overwhelmed him almost immediately.  Sully could feel himself losing the struggle, and he made one last violent effort to yank the rifle away.

     There was a flash as the rifle discharged again, and a booming report that echoed and re-echoed in Cloud Dancing’s ears.  Sully sank to the ground, blood glistening darkly on his scalp as Cloud Dancing looked on in horror.

     With a bellow of rage, the medicine man leaped at Bloody Knife, his leg kicking out instinctively toward the Indian’s jaw.  He felt the shock vibrate through his frame as the blow solidly connected, instantly driving his enemy to his knees.  Cloud Dancing locked his hands together and brought them down sharply on the back of Bloody Knife’s neck.  The scout collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

     Cloud Dancing spared a moment to ensure that Bloody Knife was no longer a threat—at least for the moment—and to hurl the rifle away into the darkness.  Then he dropped to his knees beside Sully’s body, frantically feeling for his brother’s pulse.  He couldn’t find it, and a grief akin to that which he’d  felt at Snowbird’s death engulfed him.

     Sully had been right.  The spirits had forsaken them.