Monday, 3 April, 1870

     I made as short a business of getting ready as I could.  There were people I needed to speak to before I left to go after Michaela:  the children, of course—and Elizabeth Quinn.

     I dreaded having to face them.  Talking to Colleen and Brian would be especially hard, because I knew all too well what they would be feeling—the shock, the anguish, and most of all, the fear.  That terrible, gut-wrenching fear of not knowing where Michaela was, how she was, or—God and spirits help us—if she was even still alive.  I’d been living with that fear since the moment I’d found Michaela’s blood-stained cane.  It had become a part of me—taking up permanent residence in my heart and soul, like a sickness that had no cure.  But sick at heart as I was, I knew that somehow I had to find a way to hide it—to be strong, for the children’s sake.  I had to make them believe that Michaela would be all right, and that I’d do whatever it took to find her and bring her back safe.  They’d trusted me to save Michaela when the dog soldiers took her.  I prayed that they’d trust me now . . . and that I’d be able to honor that trust.

     And there was Elizabeth.  I wasn’t sure how much she knew—with the way gossip tended to race through town like wildfire, there was no telling what kind of frightening—or quite possibly distorted—version of the facts she’d heard by now.  But I could surely make a guess at what she must be thinking.
 
     I felt guilty that I hadn’t been able to seek her out immediately.  I didn’t want to cause her worry or pain—any more pain, that is, beyond what I’d already caused through my failure to protect her child and keep her safe.  Regardless of her motive for coming out here—even if her intention had been to split us up—I knew that the love Elizabeth bore for Michaela, as well as her fears for her daughter’s safety, were genuine.  Whatever else had passed between them over the years—bad as well as good—Michaela would always be Elizabeth’s “little girl.”

     But now I had to face Elizabeth with the news that her precious child was missing and at terrible risk from a man consumed with hate and the need for revenge.  And I had to tell her that it was all my fault—proving, inevitably, that everything she’d believed about me putting Michaela in danger was true.

     I heard Michaela’s voice in my mind—the echo of the plea she’d made mere hours ago for me to forgive myself.  It had been easy then for me to promise her that I’d put aside my guilt, when the danger from Bloody Knife was still just a threat . . . when I’d been arrogant enough to think I could stop him from carrying out his vendetta against me.  But now that the threat had become reality—now that the woman I loved beyond all reason was enduring the pain that should have been mine—all my guilt and self-loathing came rushing back.  Like bands of iron, crushing fingers of despair relentlessly wrapped themselves about me—and I wondered if I would ever be able to break free of their shackles.

     I was suffering, but I deserved to suffer—the way Michaela and those who loved her most were suffering now.  The haunting question was whether I’d be able to stop that suffering, or whether—through my failure to keep Michaela safe—I had not only signed her death warrant, but condemned myself to an eternity in Hell.

* * * * * * * * * *

     They were all waiting for me when I returned to the clinic after cleaning up and making my own preparations for the journey.  The torment in Brian’s and Colleen’s eyes cut me to the quick, and I could barely bring myself to meet Elizabeth’s eyes, for fear of what I’d find there.

     “Sully, where’s Ma?” Brian burst out before I could even jump down from my horse.

     “Matthew said it wasn’t dog soldiers that took her, but he wouldn’t tell us any more than that,” Colleen chimed in anxiously.

     “I tried to reassure them that Dr. Mike would be all right, but I thought maybe it would be better if the details came from you,” Matthew explained quietly as I dismounted and tied the reins to the hitching post.

     “You were right,” I told him.  “I brought all this on—it’s my responsibility.”

     Matthew drew me aside.  “Sully, that ain’t what I meant,” he said softly, afraid that he’d added to my guilt.  “None of this was your fault.  You’ve been as much of a victim in this as Dr. Mike.”

     “I appreciate that, Matthew.  But she’s the one out there somewhere—scared, hurt, maybe
worse . . . and none of it would have happened if it weren’t for me,” I replied in low, harsh tones.

     “Mr. Sully, what has happened to my daughter?” Elizabeth spoke up at last, unable to contain herself any longer.  Her face was white and tense.  “Please tell me!”

     “I’m fixing to do exactly that, Ma’am.  I’m going to tell all of you.  But let’s go inside,” I suggested.  “What I got to say ain’t for all ears.”

     I entered the clinic and they filed in after me.  I faced them, gazing at each of their strained, anxious faces in turn.

     “Sully, who’d want to hurt Dr. Mike?” Colleen asked miserably.  “She’s never done nothing to deserve this.”

     “You’re right, she don’t deserve it,” I said.  “Truth is, it ain’t Dr. Mike he was after.  It’s me he wanted to hurt—and he knew the best way to do it was to go after someone I loved.”

     “Who is this ‘he’ to whom you refer?” Elizabeth said, agitated.  “Mr. Sully, who has kidnapped my daughter?!”

     I took a deep breath.  “It was Bloody Knife,” I began slowly.

     “’Bloody Knife?’” Elizabeth repeated.  “You mean the Indian who—“

     “Yeah,” I said.  “The Indian who attacked Cloud Dancing and me in the mountains.”

     “But I thought he wasn’t a danger no more,” protested Colleen.  “After he shot you, Cloud Dancing knocked him out and tied him up.  I remember Ma saying he might even be dead, from exposure.”

     “That’s what we thought,” I answered.  “Truth be told, I guess that’s what we hoped.  It seemed like no less than he deserved.

    “Fact of the matter is,” I went on gravely, “Cloud Dancing came real close to killing him right there on the spot.  If it hadn’t been for the snow starting, forcing us out of the mountains—well, I ain’t sure what Cloud Dancing would have done.  I don’t think he really knows himself.

    “Point is, last we knew, Bloody Knife was still alive.  But for weeks Cloud Dancing couldn’t find out what became of him because he had to stay in hiding from Custer and his men.  Finally, though, he got the chance to go back to where we’d left Bloody Knife—but he was gone.

    “Then, last night, I saw Cloud Dancing again, and he told me Bloody Knife was missing.  We weren’t sure what to make of his disappearance.  He could have got loose on his own, or Custer could have rescued him—or Custer could even have killed and buried him, to try to frame us for his murder.  We knew Custer was more than capable of going to those lengths—he even came here to the clinic once and tried to threaten your ma, accusing Cloud Dancing and me of doing something to his scout.”

    “I remember that day,” Colleen said softly.

    “Yeah, I do too,” I said grimly.  “I didn’t know what was going on then—I was still recovering from pneumonia and I’d lost my memories, so your ma wanted to protect me.  But after talking to Cloud Dancing last night, I made your ma tell me what Custer had said.”  I felt my face flush with anger yet again as I thought of the vain officer without morals or scruples.  With an effort, I pushed my hatred of Custer to the back of my mind, and continued with my story.

    “But even though we couldn’t be sure what had happened to Bloody Knife, Cloud Dancing had a feeling—a strong feeling—that he was still alive . . . and that he would come back to have his revenge on us,” I went on.   “And Cloud Dancing figured that the best way to pay us back—or to pay me back, anyway—would be for Bloody Knife to hurt the people I cared about most.  Cloud Dancing advised me to stay close to you all, just in case.  Not that I needed his warning—as soon as he told me about Bloody Knife, I knew that I had to guard you and your ma around the clock.”

    “That’s why you came back last night,” said Colleen.

    “Yeah—and scared you like I did,” I said, my voice tinged with regret.

    “It’s all right, Sully,” she said softly.

    “I’m grateful to you for being so forgiving, Colleen,” I told her.  “But after putting you through such a fright, the last thing I wanted to do was scare you any more.  And we didn’t want to worry your grandma unnecessarily.  That’s why, even though I told your ma and Matthew the truth, we decided to keep it from the rest of you.  It’s also why we decided to move everybody back here to the clinic.”

    “That was my fault,” Matthew interjected.  “I thought we’d be safer here—that Bloody Knife couldn’t get to us with so many witnesses around.  If only I’d thought it through better—“

    “You got no call to blame yourself, Matthew,” I said.  “It was a good plan, and I agreed with it.  We just didn’t figure on Bloody Knife being so hell-bent on his revenge that even a town full of people wouldn’t stop him.”

    “But how did he do it, with so many people around?” asked Colleen.

    “He started by setting fire to the saloon,” I said flatly.

    “Bloody Knife started the fire?” Colleen replied, her eyes widening in shock.

    “We’re pretty sure of it,” Matthew told her.  “It was the perfect way to get us out of the clinic and away from Dr. Mike.”

    “We had no way of knowing when the fire started that it was just a set-up to get us out of the way,”  I said.  “Even so, I still told your ma to lock all the doors and windows while we were gone.  But for some reason—maybe because she didn’t get the chance to go upstairs—the doors to the balcony were left open.  We figure that’s how he got in.”

    “What happened then?” Brian said tremulously.  It was the first time he’d spoken since he’d asked about his ma, and his eyes were dark and frightened in his pale face.  Matthew and I glanced at each other.  I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was:  that the news of Michaela’s kidnapping was bad enough,  without our adding to Brian’s anguish—and Colleen’s and Mrs. Quinn’s—by letting them see the bloody, broken cane, or telling them what we suspected about the confrontation that had taken place.  If they had even an inkling of what Michaela might have endured at the hands of this monster, it might push them over the edge completely.  It was all I could do to hold onto my own sanity—I couldn’t bring myself to torture Michaela’s children or mother with any more of the truth.

    “We ain’t sure exactly what happened, Brian,” I said gently.  “All we know is that somehow, in all the confusion from the fire, he managed to get your ma away.

    “But there’s one bright spot,” I added, anxious to give them even a small piece of hope.  “We found something peculiar on the floor—a strange kind of carved stone that don’t come from anywhere around here.  We’re pretty sure that Bloody Knife left it behind, and that it can lead us to where he’s taken Dr. Mike.”

    “Do you know what it is?” Colleen asked.

    “I had no idea—I’d never seen nothing like it before.  But lucky for us, we had somebody here who *did* know,” I answered.  “We showed it to Mr. Burke—and he was able to tell us what it was and where it came from.”

    “Mr. Burke told you?” Colleen echoed.

    “Yeah—and I’m obliged to him.  Without his help, we’d have no idea where to start looking,” I said, not quite able to keep my eyes from straying to Elizabeth’s.  She colored slightly, perhaps guessing that I knew more about why she’d brought Brendan here than she’d realized.  But a moment later any trace of embarrassment was gone, replaced by her overwhelming anxiety for her daughter.

    “Where has he taken her, Mr. Sully?” she asked.

    “To Nevada,” I said.

    “Nevada?” Colleen repeated, shocked.  “So far away?  Sully, are you sure?”

    “Mr. Burke was sure,” I told her.  “Not only was he able to tell us all about the stone we found, but he was able to describe the place it came from in detail.  He’s got photographs of the area, and maps for us to follow—and he’s even coming along with us to serve as a guide.”

    “So now you intend to involve yet another innocent person in this nightmare?” Elizabeth burst out accusingly.

    I looked at her squarely.  “No, Ma’am, it wasn’t my choice to ‘involve’ him.  Fact is, I told him just the opposite—I said this was my fight and I didn’t feel right about putting him in danger.  But he insisted.  If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself.

    “But I’ll say this,” I added.  “Brendan’s got guts—a lot more than I gave him credit for.  He was out there fighting the fire right along with us, even though he didn’t have to risk his safety.

    “And he cares about Michaela.  He wants to do whatever he can to help me get her back.  And I’m grateful.  Having him along might just make the difference between success or failure.”

    Again I studied their faces, wishing with all my heart that I had the words to take away their pain—that I could promise them beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything would turn out all right.  But all could offer them was a vow to do my best—to do whatever was in my power to save the woman so precious to all of us.

    There was one other thing, however, that I wanted them to hear.  That I needed them to know.

    “I’m sorry,” I said quietly, tears pricking at my eyes.  “I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart for everything I put you all through since I first went to find Cloud Dancing.  If I could change things, I would—without hesitation.  I’d give anything to turn back the clock and stop your ma from being taken.  But all I can do is swear to you that I won’t give up till I find her and bring her home.”  I turned to Elizabeth.

    “You got a right to hate me, Mrs. Quinn,” I said levelly.  “I wouldn’t blame you, since all I’ve done is prove you were right in your estimation of me.  I never meant to, but I put Michaela in danger, just like you predicted.  And I’ll never forgive myself that she’s suffering now for my mistakes.

    “But despite all the wrong I’ve done, there’s one thing that’s been true from the start—one thing that will never change.  I love your daughter, Mrs. Quinn.  I love her with everything I have, everything I am.  Nobody will ever fight harder for her than I will, and I’ll lay down my life for her if that’s what it takes.”

    She met my eyes, and I felt like she was looking clear into my soul.  “Just bring her home, Mr. Sully,” she said quietly.  “No matter what it costs, just—bring her home.”

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

     A short while later the travelers congregated outside the clinic, along with a contingent of friends, neighbors, and a handful of curious on-lookers.  Brendan emerged from the building with a saddle-bag slung across his shoulder and crossed to where the horse he’d rented from Robert E. stood waiting.  Now that he was cleaned up, his black eye was even more prominent.  As he occupied himself attaching the bag to his saddle, Jake eyed him speculatively, then strolled over to him.

     “That’s a hell of a shiner you got,” he observed, avidly studying the younger man.  “Maybe ya oughta let me take a look at it ‘fore ya go.”

     Brendan glanced at him briefly, then turned back to what he was doing.  “Thanks, but Dr. Mike attended to it, before—“  He broke off, then amended quietly, “It’s all right.”

     “How’d ya get it?” Jake persisted, his eyes still brightly curious.  A thought struck him, and eyebrows raised, he glanced over to where Sully stood a few feet away, then back to Brendan again.  “Run into a door?” he said archly.

     Brendan favored him with a dour look.  “No.”

     “If you must know, Jake, he ran into my fist—but it was all a misunderstandin’,” Sully spoke up coolly as he joined them.

     “Oh, yeah?” Jake said with prurient interest.  “What was this ‘misunderstandin’’ about?”  A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

     “Nothin’ worth repeatin’,” Sully said flatly, quashing any further discussion.  Jake took the hint and backed away a step or two, but he continued to regard the two men knowingly.

     “We better be headin’ out—ain’t that many hours of daylight left,” Hank announced from where he already sat astride his mount.

     “You’re right,” Sully agreed.  He started toward where the children and Elizabeth stood on the clinic porch, but was waylaid by Grace and Robert E.

     “I packed some food for ya—all the things Dr. Mike likes best,” Grace said kindly, handing Sully a bundle wrapped in gingham.  “There’s a few pieces of pecan pie in there—her favorite,” she added.

     Sully accepted the package, a pang going through him as he recalled the teasing words he and Michaela had exchanged just minutes before . . .  But no, he couldn’t let his thoughts progress past that point or he would surely break down.  “Thanks, Grace,” he managed.  “She’ll appreciate that.”

     “You’re gonna find her, Sully,” Grace told him, her eyes dark and compassionate.  “I know it in here—“  She tapped her chest.  “—and in here,” she said softly, laying her hand briefly over his heart.  “Me and Robert E.’ll be prayin’ for ya, and we promise to take good care of the children,” she added.

     “I’m obliged—for Michaela and for me.  You’re good friends,” Sully responded, regarding them both gratefully.

     Robert E. put out his hand.  “Good luck,” he said quietly, a wealth of meaning contained in the two small words.  Sully grasped the blacksmith’s hand, then Robert E. drew him into a quick, hard embrace.  “It’s gonna be all right,” he said as they parted.  Sully nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.

     “Sully!” he heard another voice seeking his attention.  He turned as Dorothy came up to him.

     “I just—want you to know how sorry I am,” she said, her eyes bright with the hint of unshed tears.  Resolutely pinning a hopeful expression on her face, she went on, “Is there anythin’ I can do for you?”

     “Thanks, Miss Dorothy, but I think we got everythin’ pretty well covered—“ Sully began, then broke off.

     “What do you need?” Dorothy asked intuitively.

     He took a breath.  “Actually there *is* somethin’, but I don’t know . . . that is, I ain’t sure how comfortable you’d be with doin’ this . . .“ he began slowly.

     “Tell me,” Dorothy urged.  “I’ll do anythin’ I can.”

     “Well, I’m guessin’ you know all about what’s happened?”

     She nodded.  “Loren told me.  I was sick about it—poor Michaela!”  Her expression was instantly tinged with regret.  “I’m sorry, Sully, I didn’t mean to make you feel worse,” she added remorsefully.

     “It’s all right,” he told her kindly.  “Michaela’s lucky to have such good friends—me too.”

     “We’re lucky to have her—the whole town is,” Dorothy told him.  “So—what do you need?” she asked, returning to the subject at hand.

     He drew her aside.  “Well, what Loren and most of the others don’t know, is that my friend Cloud Dancin’ is involved in all this,” he began in a low voice.  Dorothy was nodding again.

     “I know,” she said softly.  “Michaela confided in me—back while you were still unconscious and she brought you to the clinic.  Is he all right?” she added with concern.

     “Last I saw of him, he was,” Sully confirmed.  “Fact is, it was Cloud Dancin’ who warned me Bloody Knife might try somethin’ like this.  I just didn’t figure he’d go so far, or that I wouldn’t be able to stop him—“  He broke off again, his eyes tormented.

     “You did everythin’ in your power to protect her,” Dorothy said firmly.  “I know that.  Michaela does too,” she added gently.

     Sully drew another deep breath, forcing the despair back down inside.  Meeting Dorothy’s eyes again he continued, “Well anyway, there wasn’t any time to go find him and tell him what’s happened.  Plus I was afraid that if he knew about Michaela bein’ taken, he’d insist on comin’ with us, and it’s too dangerous for him.  I don’t want him takin’ that kinda risk,” he said.

     “I understand,” Dorothy replied.

     “Thing is, he’s got a right to know about this.  I was tryin’ to think of a way to get word to him after we’re gone.  I thought about sendin’ Colleen, but if Custer and the army are watchin’, they might follow her.”

     “Do you want me to take a message to him?” Dorothy offered, taking the intiative.

     Sully looked at her appreciatively, grateful for her insight.  “I know it’s askin’ a lot, but I don’t think you’d raise any suspicion,” he explained.  “Still, it could be dangerous.  If you’d rather not, I’ll understand.”

     Dorothy gazed at him calmly.  “Where can I find him?” she said.

     “Thanks, Miss Dorothy,” Sully answered, moved by her courage and willingness to help.  “Ask Colleen—I told her where to look, just in case.”

    “I’ll do that,” Dorothy told him.  “There’s just one thing, though,” she added, her face anxious.  “Do you think he’ll trust me?  After all, I’m little more than a stranger to him.”

    Sully slipped off his beaded necklace and dropped it into her hand.  “Give him this, and say that I sent you,” he said.  “Then he’ll know you’re a friend.”

    Dorothy nodded.   “Besides tellin’ him the news, is there any other message you want me to give him?” she asked.

    Sully was silent, considering.  There was so much he wanted to say, and so little time—and mere words seemed so pitifully inadequate to express what he felt in his heart.

    “Tell him—I’m sorry,” he said finally.  “Sorry that I couldn’t come to him myself, and that I wouldn’t let him come along ‘cause of the danger. . . and tell him I promise to find him soon as I can, when I—“  He hesitated.  “—when we—come home.

    “Tell him to be careful, to watch out for the army, and—“  He stopped abruptly, then gave Dorothy a small, bittersweet smile.  “Never mind,” he said softly.  “He’ll know.  Just—tell him I’m prayin’ to the spirits to keep him safe,” he finished simply.

    “I’m sure he’ll be prayin’ the same thing for you,” Dorothy assured him.  “Just like I will.”  She covered his hand with hers.  “I know you’re gonna find her, Sully.”

    Sully managed a smile.  “Keep a good thought,” he said.

    “Always,” Dorothy vowed.  She patted his hand, then walked away.

    Sully noticed Loren on the fringes of the crowd, and approached him.  “Loren—could you spend some time with Brian while we’re gone?” he asked.  “Maybe take him fishin’—help keep his spirits up?”

    Loren hooked his thumbs into his vest.  “Yeah, I can do that,” he allowed, the sternness of his expression unable to conceal the emotion in his eyes.

    “Thanks, Loren,” Sully said respectfully.  “I’m obliged.”

    “No thanks necessary.  Just—watch out for yourself, “ Loren instructed gruffly.  “And give my best to Dr. Mike.”  He turned away, his eyes suspiciously bright.

    Finally, Sully made his way to where Brian, Colleen and Matthew waited on the porch.  A few feet away, Brendan was taking his leave of Elizabeth, and Sully skirted them slightly to give them their privacy.  He reached the children, and knelt down on one knee before Brian.  Brian faced him stalwartly, but a shine in his eyes and a slight tremble to his lip betrayed the frightened little boy inside.  Sully’s heart went out to the child he was lucky enough to call his “son.”

    “You take care of yourself,” he began, propping one arm on his knee as he reached out his other hand to lightly brush the hair off Brian’s forehead.  “Keep on doin’ everythin’ you’d normally do, just like your ma would want.  Go to school, do your chores, help Colleen and your grandma . . .  But be sure to take time out to have some fun while you’re at it.  Go for rides on Taffy, play with your friends, go fishin’ with Mr. Bray—‘cause those things are important, too, Brian.”

    Brian swallowed hard.  “It don’t seem right to be havin’ fun when Ma’s in trouble,” he said softly.  Sully regarded him compassionately.

    “I know,” he said gently.  “But your ma wouldn’t want to think of you bein’ sad.  Just try to keep your chin up, Brian—for Dr. Mike.  And for me, too.

    “You know, you’re gonna be the man of the house while Matthew and me are gone,” Sully added, fighting a lump in his own throat.  “I’m countin’ on you to take care of everybody.”

    “I will,” Brian promised.

    “I know you will,” Sully answered.  Bravely Brian stuck out his hand and Sully shook it solemnly.  Then impulsively, Brian threw himself into Sully’s arms.  Sully hugged him close, feeling the tears threatening again.  He could feel the moisture of Brian’s tears dampening his shirt.

    “Tell Ma I miss her,” Brian whispered.

    “First thing when I see her,” Sully whispered back.

    “I love you, Sully!” Brian confided, his face pressed against Sully’s chest.

    “I love you too, Brian,” Sully answered, his voice breaking over the words.  He gave the boy a final hug, then stood up and moved to Colleen.  Tears glimmered in her eyes as well, but she managed to summon a smile for his sake.

    “Tell Dr. Mike not to worry—we’ll be fine, and we’ll take good care of things till you can bring her home,” she said.  Sully rested his hands on her shoulders.

    “Did I ever tell you how proud we are of you—and how grateful I am for everythin’ you did for me?” he asked with a tender smile.  “Your ma told me how you helped her take care of me—said she didn’t know what she woulda done without you.

    “You’re gonna be a wonderful doctor, Colleen—just like your ma.  You’re already a wonderful daughter,” he told her.

    “Thank you, Sully!” she said tremulously, and hugged him.  He gently stroked her long, blonde hair for a moment, then released her.

    “I’ll give Dr. Mike your love,” he said.  She nodded, and managed to smile again through the tears that had spilled over.

    As Matthew began his good-byes to his brother and sister, Sully turned aside and walked over to Elizabeth, who now stood alone.  She regarded him steadily, hands clasped in front of her.

    “What I said before, Mrs. Quinn—I meant it,” he stated.  “I’m truly sorry for what’s happened, but I’ll do everythin’ in my power to make things right again.  I promise I’ll find Michaela.”

    “Thank you, Mr. Sully,” she said stiffly after a moment.  “Brendan tells me you’re a good man—he says I should trust you.”  She gazed at him intently.  “Very well.  I’m going to trust you, Mr. Sully, with the thing most precious to me—my daughter’s life.”

    “I’ll make myself worthy of your trust, Ma’am,” Sully vowed quietly.  “I swear.”

    “Sully!” Hank said warningly.

    “Right—I’m comin’,” he said.  He glanced to where Matthew was giving Ingrid a final embrace.  “Matthew?”  The young man nodded, and reluctantly parted from his fiancee, then climbed into the saddle.

    Sully took a last look at Brian and Colleen, then started for his own horse.  Suddenly he stopped.  “Wait—there’s one more thing I need to do,” he added.  Hank rolled his eyes impatiently as Sully walked swiftly over to Robert E.  He took the blacksmith aside, and the two men exchanged a few whispered words, then finally, Sully returned to the men who were accompanying him.  He untied the reins and vaulted onto his horse’s back, then maneuvered the animal to the head of the group.

    “We’ll be prayin’ for you,” the Reverend told them.  “God bless you all,” he added, lifting his hand to them in benediction.

    With a last farewell glance for those watching, the rescue party moved off down the street, on their way at last to whatever destiny awaited them.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Michaela’s head twisted restlessly, a soft moan of agitation escaping her as her eyes rapidly darted back and forth beneath her closed lids.  She was with One-Eye again, standing by the creek under the night sky, the stars cold and implacable above.  She stared up at the renegade in terror as he loomed over her, his visible eye coldly calculating, his expression a contemptous leer.

     He seized the waistband of her skirt and yanked her toward him.  Impotently she tried to resist.

     “No!” she gasped, recoiling from his repellent breath, his lascivious look.  Suddenly his large hands were on either side of her head, almost crushing her skull in an iron grip.  He pulled her head toward his own as his mouth closed over hers, his snake-like tongue forcing its way between her lips and relentlessly probing her mouth.  Disgust and panic surged through her at his assault, her strength no match for his as she vainly sought to fend him off.

    Then suddenly he was gone, a figure catapaulting out of the night to knock him away.

     SULLY! she thought, intense relief flooding through her.  But her joy at his appearance turned immediately to fear for his  life, as Sully desperately fought One-Eye.  Oh God—SULLY . . .

     Michaela awoke with a violent start, her body trembling and her tortured mind awash in confusion as she emerged out of one darkness into another.

     Crushing pain in her neck and shoulder brought her abruptly back to the present.  For a moment the intensity of the pain left her gasping for breath, but gradually it waned, and she was able to take stock of her situation.

     She was propped against a rock, her hands and feet bound tightly.  Her arms and legs felt numb, the circulation nearly cut off by the cruelty of her restraints.  In contrast to the deadened sensation in her limbs, slowly and surely other aches and pains made themselves known, and she became aware of a  papery dryness in her throat.

     She moved her head gingerly, the tortured muscles in her neck stabbing in protest.  Some yards away she saw the bulk of two horses tethered to a clump of bushes.  As she listened, the animals nickered softly in the darkness.  Beyond her feet a fire burned, sending tiny bursts of sparks spiraling up into the night.  But it had little power to warm the icy coldness which permeated her.  Bloody Knife sat across the campfire, desultorily feeding twigs and fragments of wood into the flames.

     Michaela’s eyes tried to penetrate the pressing closness of the darkness surrounding her, but her efforts were in vain.  There was no way to tell where she was, or even how much time had passed.  It could have been hours since Bloody Knife had taken her—or days.  She looked up at the expanse of coldly flickering stars blanketing the sky, but they had nothing to tell her.

     “Please,” she finally broke the silence, able to muster no more than a harsh whisper over the aridness in her throat.  “Some water . . .?”

     He eyed her coldly, but after what seemed an interminable hesitation, he reached for a canteen beside him and rose to his feet, crossing over to where she sat.  As he approached her and his face was illuminated by the firelight, she could detect a crudely fashioned, blood-stained bandage around his head, beneath his hat.  Dried blood caked his temple, and more streaks ran down his neck, disappearing into his shirt collar.  She wondered that he could have escaped notice, bearing such obvious evidence of his injury—but could only conclude that he’d taken advantage of the confusion engendered by the fire to get them both away without being seen.  Once beyond the outskirts of town, it would have been easy for him to stay off the main roads, traveling exclusively through the woods to avoid detection.

    Bloody Knife hunkered down uncomfortably close to her, pulling the stopper from the canteen and holding the vessel to her lips.  Michaela drank eagerly, the tepid water blessedly cool and refreshing on her parched throat.  Almost immediately, however, he snatched the canteen away; so that instead of assuaging her thirst, the tantalizingly brief drink of water only made her crave more.

    But that was the least of her problems.  She was a helpless captive of someone who was both violent and vindictive, quite possibly insane—and most definitely unpredictable.  She had no way of knowing what his intentions were toward her, how long he intended to keep her prisoner, or even whether he would let her live.  Yet strangely enough, she instinctively felt that he did not intend to violate her.  He didn’t seem interested in physical relations, or forcing himself upon her.  No, Bloody Knife’s interest was not in rape—but revenge.

    And it was the thought of Bloody Knife’s revenge which was the source of her greatest fear and worry.  The scout had made no effort to disguise his hatred for Sully and Cloud Dancing.  From the first moment the Indian had appeared in the clinic, he had repeatedly threatened Sully’s life.  Michaela had no doubt that he intended to make good on his threat—that his abduction of her was just a crucial step in an elaborate plot to kill Sully, and perhaps Cloud Dancing as well.  Bloody Knife had failed in this mission once—he didn’t intend to fail again.

    And powerless as she was at the moment, she had no way of stopping him from carrying out his plans—and yet she had to try.  If only she could persuade him to remove her bonds, she could restore the circulation in her arms and legs so that she would be prepared to run, if the opportunity somehow presented itself—as remote a possibility as that seemed to be.  But far more importantly, if her hands were free, she might be able to reach her medical bag, and somehow devise a plan to use one of the drugs it contained to overcome her captor.

    Michaela gathered her courage.  “You should let me treat your wound,” she said carefully.  “It could become infected.”

    “I already carry the scars you inflicted upon me,” he said darkly.  “You will not get a second chance.”

    “But I’m a doctor—I can help you—“ Michaela ventured again, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

     “Silence!” he snapped.  “You will speak only when I command it.”  He stood up suddenly and went to where he had been sitting, picking up something large and roughly rectangular.  As he returned to her, the firelight fell upon the object in his hands.  Startled, she recognized her medical bag.

     He set it down on the ground and thumbed open the catch, sharply yanking the edges of the bag apart.

     “Which is the chloroform?” he demanded.

     Michaela stared at him in shock.  How did he, an Indian scout, know about chloroform?  Much more ominously, had he somehow read her mind, or guessed her intentions?    Trying to subdue her trembling, she said, “What do you want with—“

     “That is not your business!” he said sharply.  “Which is the chloroform?” he repeated.  “I will touch each bottle—you will tell me when I reach it.”  The knife suddenly reappeared in his hand.  Tauntingly he held it before her face.  “If you refuse to tell me—or if you try to lie—I will kill you and leave you for the wolves.  And then I will kill the half-breed when he comes after you and finds what’s left.”

     An intense chill pervaded her that had nothing to do with the temperature.  She knew that Sully would come in search of her—that he would do everything in his power to find and rescue her, regardless of the cost, or the consequences.  She knew all this because she knew Sully.  She knew the depth of his love and devotion to her, and his determination to protect and save her from any threat, any danger.  He had done it once before with the dog soldiers, and he would do it now.  Michaela knew all this in her heart, as surely as she knew her own name.

    But Bloody Knife didn’t know Sully.  He didn’t know their history with one another, or the profound strength of the bond which connected them.  Yet the scout seemed strangely confident of Sully’s actions.  He seemed to expect Sully to appear.  Did that mean he’d left some kind of clue behind when he’d taken her, to lead Sully into a trap?   The thought terrified her, but it seemed the only logical explanation.

    She had to find a way to stop Bloody Knife, though it appeared impossible.  Which meant that she had to try to discover his plan.

    All these thoughts went through her mind in an instant, as the scout stared at her menacingly.  Summoning the shreds of her courage once again, Michaela defiantly raised her chin.  “What do you know of chloroform?” she demanded in her turn.

     “I have seen the army doctors use this white man’s medicine to make men sleep,” he told her.  “I will ask you once more,” he added threateningly.  “Which is it?”  He sheathed the knife, then held the opening of the bag toward her so that she could see its contents.  Slowly his fingers touched one container, then the next.  Finally his hand fell on a bottle of clear liquid, capped with a black nozzle.  Reluctantly, Michaela inclined her head.

     Nodding in satisfaction, Bloody Knife withdrew the bottle, along with a length of bandage, then tossed the medical bag aside.  Liberally dampening the bandage with the anesthetic, he suddenly put the cloth over her nose and mouth.

     “No!” Michaela choked, trying to twist away.  But one of his hands snaked around to hold her head immobile as the other hand relentlessly held the cloth in place.

     She continued to struggle, but her movements began to weaken as the fumes took effect.  Within seconds, her head slumped as she fell unconscious.

     Carelessly releasing her so that her upper body fell back against the rock, Bloody Knife retrieved the medical bag and foraged through its contents once again.  After a few moments he withdrew another length of bandage, along with a small mirror.  He wet the cloth with water from the canteen; then, studying his image in the mirror, he methodically began to wipe the blood from his face and neck.

     Several minutes passed as the scout carefully cleaned away the visible evidence of the woman’s attack.  Finally done, he critically examined his reflection.  With the application of a fresh bandage, and his hat pulled down low, no one would be the wiser.

     He had misjudged the woman’s strength and spirit, and so he had been caught unawares.  He would not make that mistake again.  But it had only been a minor setback, and it would not stop him from going forward with his plan.  Even now, the half-breed who called himself Sully was coming in pursuit of him.  Sully had feelings for the woman—and those feelings made him reckless, and predictable—and weak.  Before too many more suns had set, Sully would arrive at the spot Bloody Knife had selected for their final confrontation.  And the scout would be waiting for him.

     Bloody Knife would have his revenge upon the half-breed at last—for himself, and for the Son of the Morning Star.  Sully would die, as he should have died that night.  Perhaps the Cheyenne would be foolish enough to come with him, and Bloody Knife would dispatch them both at once.  But if not, he would track down the Cheyenne wherever the coward was hiding, and finish what he’d started.

     The scout reached behind him and picked up a bottle of whiskey, two-thirds empty.  Biting down on the plug, he yanked it free and spat it out, then up-ended the bottle, draining the contents.  He flung the bottle away into the darkness, and heard the muted sound of breaking glass.

     Once again Bloody Knife appraised himself in the mirror, his eyes glittering in anticipation.