Sunday, 16 April, 1870

Dear Dr. Mike,

    I don’t know if Sully would mind me writing in his journal like this.  I hope not.  I hope you won’t mind either.  I know these pages are private, for his eyes alone—and I swear I ain’t read any of them and I never would.  But Sully asked me to hold onto this and give it to you in case . . . well, in case he ain’t around after all this is over.  It’s a promise I pray I won’t have to keep, but I gave him my word.  Long as I’ve known him, Sully ain’t never broke his word to me or anybody else—he’s never made a promise he didn’t keep.  So the very least I owe him is to honor my pledge, in spite of how much it might hurt.

     I just wanted . . . that is, I just felt that there should be some sort of record . . . that I should write down what happened here, so that you’d know later how brave he was—how far he traveled and how hard he struggled to find you and bring you back safe.  Though we had to come hundreds of miles on this journey, and there were times when Sully was feeling real low and fearing the worst about what had become of you—still, he never gave up.  He never stopped believing that you were alive, and he never wavered in his determination to bring you back to all of us who love you.

     It was Sully’s determination, his faith—that gave me hope, and the courage to keep going.  It’s what inspired Mr. Burke to come along and help us; and it’s even what convinced Hank to stick with us to the end, in spite of how ornery and skeptical he was.  Knowing Hank like you do, you also know how stubborn he can be.  So Sully’s faith had to be powerful indeed to make even Hank believe.

     As I write this, Sully is somewhere behind the waterfall, maybe even with you in the cave this very moment.  I hope so—I’m praying he’s found you, that you’re together and any moment he’ll be bringing you out and he can get you up here to us where we can all take care of you and protect you.  There ain’t no sign of Bloody Knife so far.  We could see Sully searching all the cliffs and terrain around as he made his way from here to the waterfall.  We were watching too, and covering Sully till he could reach the waterfall and get out of sight.  As far as we can tell he’s all right, and we can only hope that Bloody Knife ain’t with you in the cave, waiting to ambush him the moment he shows up.

    But you know better than anybody, how careful and cautious and clever Sully is—every bit a match for Bloody Knife.  The Indian scout may have been calling the tune up to this point, but now it’s Sully’s turn, and he ain’t going to let anything else happen to you, no matter what he has to do, or what lengths he has to go to.  I don’t mean to frighten you by saying that—I’m sure Sully will avoid violence if he can.  We both know he doesn’t want to kill, even though he has it in him to do it if he’s got to.  But if he can’t avoid a fight, then he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

    There ain’t much more I can say at this point, till we know better what’s happening.  But no matter how it goes, I promise you, Dr. Mike, that we’ll do everything we can to help Sully, and protect him.  And that we’ll protect you, too.

    We love you, Ma.  I love you—and I’m praying that the end of this day will find both you and Sully back with us again.

                                                                                                               Matthew

* * * * * * * * * *

 
CHAPTER FIFTY

     “You’re awake,” he whispered, his eyes lighting with joy as they hungrily searched every inch of her face.  “Oh, thank God, thank God . . .”  He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then drew back to fill his eyes with her image once again.

     Michaela was looking up at him from where her head rested in his lap.  “Sully?  It’s . . . really you?” she added faintly after a moment.  “Not . . . a dream?”

     He gave her a smile that melted her heart.  “No, Michaela, it’s not a dream.  I’m here.  I’m real.  See?”  He reached for her hand and squeezed it—but felt a sharp stab of remorse as she flinched and moaned.  A look of misery crossed his face.  “I hurt you . . . I’m sorry, Michaela, I’m sorry . . .”  he apologized softly.

     She managed to shake her head.  “My hands . . . from the cold and damp . . . you couldn’t know
 . . .”

     Again Sully felt hatred for Bloody Knife surge through him, and with a supreme act of will he choked it back down.  Trying not to acknowledge the tempest of black thoughts which roiled through his mind; instead he looked down at Michaela’s fragile hand resting in his.  He held it as lightly, as gently as he was able, then bent his head and brushed the back with the tenderest of kisses.  A moment later Michaela felt a tiny splash of wetness on her skin.

     “It’s gonna be all right,” he murmured, smiling at her through the sheen of tears in his eyes.  “Everythin’s gonna be all right now.  I’m gonna get you outta here, and then we’re gonna take you to a doctor and get you all fixed up.  You’re gonna heal and get well, and everythin’ will be fine.”

     She tried to smile back, but it faltered on her lips, and she trembled instead.  A shadow seemed to cross her face, and Sully felt a cramp of fear in his gut.  “I . . . don’t know . . .” she ventured.  “It might be—too late . . .”

     “Don’t you say that,” he admonished her immediately, fear like a knife stabbing at him.  “Don’t even think it.  Nothin’s gonna happen to you.   I won’t let it.”  His eyes were pleading and poignant.  “I know I let you down before, but never again, Michaela.  I swear, never again.”

     “You never . . . let me down,” she answered softly.  “You never could.  You’re here now.  I knew you’d come,” she went on, reaching up weakly with her other hand to touch his cheek.  “I knew it . . .”

     He swallowed down his tears and smiled at her again.  “And I knew you’d hold on and wait for me,” he said tenderly.  “You’re the strongest, bravest woman I’ve ever known.  I knew your courage wouldn’t fail you.”

     “I . . . get it from you,” she told him, finding the smile that had eluded her before.  “A man’s love also gives a woman courage,” she added.

     His tears threatened once again and Sully buried his face in her hair.  “I love you so much,” he whispered brokenly.  Michaela brushed her cramped fingers through the gold-brown locks falling against her cheek.

     “I love you, too,” she breathed in his ear.

     Sully took several breaths, trying to regain his composure.  After a few moments he lifted his head and announced resolutely, “Plenty of time for talkin’ and holdin’ when we get you out of here.  And that’s what we’re gonna do right now.”

     “But—Bloody Knife . . . he’s watching . . .” Michaela protested weakly.

     Sully’s eyes immediately darted around the cavern, then returned to her face.  “Where?” he said.

     “Outside . . . somewhere . . .  He said he would allow us to be together alone . . .  He said it would be—the last time,” she related fearfully.

     “Don’t you believe it,” he told her, managing to summon yet another smile of reassurance.  “I finally got you back—I ain’t never lettin’ you go again.”

     “But Sully—he wants to kill you . . . he’s obsessed, even mad—“  The tears trickled down her cheeks.

     “Don’t you worry about me,” he said.  “I’ll be fine.  You just save your strength for holdin’ on till we can get you to a doctor.”

     “But I’m so frightened for you—“ she tried again, her eyes anguished.  Immediately he placed his fingertips gently against her lips.

     “Shh,” he whispered.  “No more of that.  We’re gonna get out of this, Michaela.  Trust me.”  His eyes were steady, determined, and she found herself drawing strength as she gazed into them.  “I’m gonna pick you up and carry you outta here, but first I need your help.  I need to know if you’re hurtin’
anywhere else.  If he—did anythin’ else to you.”  He swallowed, his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs.

     “My legs—they were bound for a long time.  I don’t think I can stand on them,” she answered.  “But—he didn’t hurt me any other way.”  Sully felt a rush of relief so intense it was painful.  But on the heels of that emotion was a resurgence of the rage still coiled in his mind.

     “He just drugged you and starved you,” he said darkly.  Unable to deny it, Michaela didn’t reply.

     “Did he at least give you water?” Sully added.  Michaela noted the rigid profile of his jaw, and the familiar muscle ticking beneath the skin.

     “Yes . . . from time to time,” she said.  “But—I’m so thirsty now.  Could I—have a drink before we go?”

     “Of course,” he said in a rush, reproaching himself for not thinking of it immediately.  He eased himself out from under her and then stood, looking quickly around the cave.  There was no sign of a canteen, but after a few seconds of searching his eye fell on a tin cup laying upside down by the wall.  He retrieved it, then cautiously made his way to the mouth of the cavern.

     Sully eased his head out carefully, studying the surroundings, but there was no sign of the Indian.  He emerged the rest of the way and rapidly rinsed the cup in the thundering spray, then filled it nearly to the brim.

     He returned to Michaela and knelt down beside her, slipping his strong arm under her shoulders and around her back, supporting her as he held the cup to her lips.

     “Slow,” he cautioned her gently.  “Just a few sips at a time.”  He held her patiently, waiting until she was able to finish most of the contents of the cup.  “Better?” he asked solicitously.

     Michaela nodded.  “Much,” she answered, her voice a little stronger.  “I think—I can get up now.”

     “Don’t try to move,” he cautioned her again.  “You let me take care of that.”  He tucked the blanket more snugly about her, then got his feet under him.  Sliding one arm securely around her back, he carefully slipped the other under her legs and then straightened, lifting her in his arms and holding her close.  Another dart of pain lanced him.  She felt as if she weighed almost nothing at all.  “Tell me if I hurt you,” he added.

     She rested her head against his chest, the crown of her hair tucked beneath his chin.  “You could never hurt me,” she whispered.

     He started to carry her out, but she stopped him.  “My medical bag,” she said, pointing toward a spot in the shadows.  He detected the bag lying on its side, and crossed to where it lay, bending awkwardly to grab the handle while he balanced her in his arms.

     A moment later, the bag dangling from his hand and Michaela’s body cradled tightly against him, Sully delivered his heartsong from her prison.

* * * * * * * * * *

    “How long’s it been?” Hank asked, his eyes restlessly perusing the cliffs.  The stub of still another cigar was poised between his thumb and forefinger.  It had burned down to ash, the fire extinguished, but he didn’t appear to have noticed.

    “How long since Sully left, or since the last time you asked?” Brendan replied mildly, the gold case of a pocket watch resting loosely in his hand.

    Hank looked at him dourly.  “And I ‘spose you ain’t worried?”

    Brendan gazed back at him.  “Of course I’m worried,” he admitted honestly.  “Any sane person would be.  I suppose I just feel that an obsession with the clock serves no purpose.”

    “Yeah, but the longer he’s gone—“ Hank began.

    “What?” Brendan interjected.  “We don’t know for sure what it means if Sully’s gone a long time.  We don’t have enough facts.  It could be a good sign—he could have found Dr. Mike and be ministering to her.  On the other hand—“  He shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.

    Hank stared past him at the rush of water opposite.  Unguarded for a moment, his eyes became unexpectedly vulnerable.  Brendan noted the change, and had a sudden glimpse into the depth of Hank’s feelings.  He was aware of a spark of compassion for the acid-tongued saloon keeper.

    “Nearly twenty minutes,” he said, relenting.  Hank darted a glance at him.  “Since Sully left,” Brendan added.  Hank acknowledged the information with a slight bob of the head.

    “You think one of us should go down there?” Matthew asked from his position by the boulder.

    “I don’t know if Sully would want that,” Brendan speculated uncertainly.

    “He didn’t tell us not to follow him,” Matthew countered.

    “That’s true, but I think his intent was that we remain up here, out of sight,” Brendan replied.

    “Only way to maintain an advantage,” Hank agreed.

    “But what if Sully’s in trouble?” Matthew persisted uneasily.  “Bloody Knife could be holdin’ him at gunpoint right now, while we’re just sittin’ up here twiddlin’ our thumbs.”

    “Yeah, but if we go rushin’ into the situation blind, we could make things even worse,” Hank told him.  “The Injun’s unpredictable . . . and most likely real jumpy by now.  If we startle him, he might decide to just start shootin’.  Somebody could get hurt—maybe even killed.  Sully, or Michaela . . .”

    “I think Hank’s right,” Brendan agreed.  “Without knowing more of the circumstances, we might do more harm than good.  I think we should continue to wait.  As I said, only twenty minutes have passed, though it feels like it’s been much longer.  For all we know, Sully could emerge from the cave with Dr. Mike any minute now,” he added hopefully.

    “Or him and Dr. Mike could be lyin’ in there hurt, or dead . . .” Matthew said grimly.

    “Chance we gotta take,” Hank maintained calmly, finally tossing away the dead stub of his cigar and lighting a fresh one.

    “Well what are we doin’ here then?!” Matthew burst out in frustration.  “We’re ‘sposed to be givin’ Sully back-up, and instead all we’re doin’ is coverin’ our own backsides!”

    “That ain’t what we’re doin’, and ya know it,” Hank reproached him quietly, sounding surprisingly compassionate.  “We ain’t gonna do Sully or Michaela any good if we wind up gettin’ ourselves shot.”

    “Well, we sure ain’t helpin’ ‘em by doin’ nothin’,” Matthew maintained stubbornly.

    “Sometimes that’s all you *can* do,” Brendan pointed out gently.  “It’s hard, but it’s often the only safe course of action.”

    “And what happens if Sully gets killed?” Matthew challenged him.  “How do I face Dr. Mike afterwards and tell her that I let Sully die ‘cause I was playin’ it *safe?*  How could I ever expect her to forgive me—not that I’d deserve it,” he concluded miserably.

    “Ya know Michaela would never hold ya to blame,” Hank asserted.  “’Sides, she don’t wanna see you get shot anymore than Sully.  Think how she’d feel if she had two bodies to bury by the time this day is out.”

    Matthew shook his head.  “I hate this,” he muttered.  “I hate the waitin’, the not knowin’ . . .”

    “Better get used to it,” Hank told him sharply.  “You’re a man now, not a wet-nosed little brat.  Stop whinin’ and grow up.”

    Matthew shot a venomous look at him.  “You’re a fine one to talk about whinin’, after the way you acted the other day!” he retorted.

    “’Do what I say, not what I do,’” Hank quoted blandly, unfazed by the young man’s reaction.

    “Yeah, I’ll put that on Sully’s tombstone,” Matthew snapped.  “I’m sure it’ll be a real comfort to Dr. Mike.”

    “That’s right, get mad,” Hank said suddenly.  “Go ahead, yell at me.  And then once ya got it outta your system, we can figure out what we’re gonna do.”

    Matthew’s eyes widened.  “You did that on purpose,” he said after a moment.
 Hank regarded him knowingly and didn’t answer.

     “All right, you made your point,” Matthew conceded.  “Flyin’ off the handle don’t do nobody any good.”

     “Never has,” Hank said bluntly.

     “But how long do we wait?” Matthew went on.  “How can we be sure when it’s time to take matters into our own hands?”

     Hank shrugged.  “No way to be sure,” he responded.  “But here’s what I think:  we give it a little more time—maybe another fifteen minutes or so, and then we make our way down there.”

     “What’ll be different fifteen minutes from now?” Matthew argued.  “Seems to me we’ll still be in the same fix.”

     “Maybe nothin’,” Hank answered.  “But maybe Sully and Michaela will be outta the cave by then.  But if not—well, then we just gotta go ahead and do whatever’s necessary.

     “There ain’t no guarantees in a situation like this,” he concluded.  “No right or wrong. Sometimes, ya just gotta go with your gut.”

     “Hank’s making sense, Matthew,” Brendan chimed in.  “I think you should listen.”

     Matthew looked unconvinced, but some of the tension drained from his face and his posture relaxed minutely.  There was a long pause.  “All right,” he finally capitulated.  “We’ll wait—for a few more minutes.  But then—“

     “Then—“ Hank interrupted, his eyes steely.  “We’ll take care of this Injun once and for all.”

     “Deal,” Matthew agreed, his expression equally determined.  “But ‘fore that happens, I got somethin’ to
do . . .”

* * * * * * * * * *

    Sully draped a fold of the blanket over Michaela’s face and head to protect her from the powerful spray.  Manuevering along the lip outside the cave entrance with the bulk of her body in his arms was tricky.  The rock beneath his feet was slippery, and the narrowness of the ledge wouldn’t forgive mistakes.  He hugged the cliff wall, sidling gingerly along its expanse until he was out from behind the cascading water.

    As he skirted the edge of the rock pool, his eyes were constantly on the move, combing every inch of the immediate terrain.  But still there was no sign of danger, no indication that Bloody Knife was anywhere in the vicinity.  Sully stood still for a moment, trying to clear his mind and search himself to see if he still had that prickly feeling of being watched.  But the clamor of his emotions blocked his other perceptions.  All he could think about—all he cared about—was getting Michaela to the safety of the ridge and his companions.  He would ask Brendan the location of the nearest town, the nearest doctor.  And then he’d get her there with the quickest possible haste.  He’d ride all night if that’s what it took.  He wasn’t going to let her slip away from him now.

    But what about Bloody Knife? a grim voice spoke up in his mind.  You don’t really think he’s going to let you get away so easy, do you?  Michaela said he was watching—and you can count on her being right about that.  He isn’t going to let you leave.  Not without paying a price.  A price of blood . . .

    Michaela pushed the blanket away from her face, but then flinched with a sharp intake of breath, distracting him from his dire thoughts.

    “What is it?” Sully asked her quickly.  “Is somethin’ painin’ you?”

    Her eyes were narrow slits, her hand shading her forehead.  “It’s so  bright . . .” she murmured.  “It hurts my eyes—makes my head ache.”

    “Turn away—cover your eyes,” he told her.  “You been in the dark a long time—you need time to adjust.”

    She had already complied, forced to close her weakened eyes against the slanting rays of the westering sun.  “But I want to see you,” she confided softly, her face pressed against his shirt front.  “I’ve waited so long . . .”

    “You will,” he promised.  “Soon we’ll have all the time in the world to look at each other.  You just need to be patient a little longer,” he pacified her.  “Just concentrate on the sound of my voice—and on the feel of me holdin’ you and kissin’ you.”  She felt his lips brush her temple.  “Keep your mind fixed on that.”

    She smiled dreamily.  “It feels wonderful,” she sighed.

    Tears stung Sully’s eyes again, and one escaped to trail down his cheek.  He was grateful her eyes were closed so that she wouldn’t see him weeping, unable to control his emotions.

    He made an effort to swallow down the tears and keep his voice normal.  “You feel wonderful too,” he managed.  He took a deep breath and then continued, “I’m gonna carry you up the slope now.  I’ll be as gentle as I can, but there’s gonna be some rough footin’, so try to prepare yourself.  Once we get to the top, though, it’s smooth sailin’ across to the ridge.  Matthew, Hank and Brendan are all up there, waitin’ for us.  Just a little farther to go, Michaela—and then ‘fore you know it, you’ll be in a warm bed, with a doctor to tend you, and plenty of food, water, and anythin’ else your heart desires.  Then you can start to put this nightmare behind you.

    “Can you hang on a little longer, for me?” he added gently.

    Michaela nodded, unable to resist the urge to open her eyes and look at his face.  Her eyes slitted slightly, she whispered, “I’d do anything for you.”

    “And I’d do anythin’ for you,” he returned the vow, feeling close to breaking down again.

    She continued to gaze up at him, though the effort pained her.  “There’s only one thing I want you to do for me,” she answered softly.

    “What’s that?” Sully asked, looking down at her tenderly.

    “Stay alive,” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *

    “There he is!” Matthew exclaimed suddenly.  “And he’s got Dr. Mike!”  Hank and Brendan looked sharply to where Matthew was pointing.  They could see Sully’s figure in the distance, cradling a blanket-wrapped form.  They watched as he paused for a few moments by the edge of the pool, then began his precarious ascent up the rock-strewn incline.  Their eyes remained riveted on Sully as he moved slowly
and carefully from one tenuous foothold to the next, cautiously making his way upward.  Finally he achieved the top of the slope, and they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

    “He did it,” Matthew declared.  “He got her out.  It’s gonna be all right.”

    “He got her out, yeah,” Hank allowed warily.  “But they ain’t outta the woods yet.”

    “But now Sully’s got us to cover him,” Matthew maintained.  “If anythin’ happens—“  He broke off raggedly as his eyes caught a flash of movement on the cliff-face to their right.  Someone was crouched on a shelf of rock roughly ten feet above the desert floor.  The figure was nude to the waist, raven-black hair adorned with feathers fanning over his shoulders.  In the split second it took for Matthew to register the intruder’s presence, he simultaneously noted that Sully and Dr. Mike were about to pass beneath his position.  “Hank—!“ he said frantically, pulling his gun from its holster and cocking the hammer.

    But the saloon keeper had already spotted the scout.  Rejecting his pistol, he seized a loaded rifle instead, training it on the figure poised above Sully.  “I see him,” the barkeep said softly.  “I see him . . .”  A few paces away, Brendan also had his gun aimed toward the Indian.

    “We gotta warn Sully!” Matthew said harshly, sweat beading his forehead.

    “No time,” Hank muttered.  “If I can just get a clear shot—“  He closed one eye and subtlely adjusted the angle of the rifle till the Indian was square in his sights.  He took a deep breath and held it, squeezing the trigger.  As his shot echoed eerily around the canyon, Bloody Knife launched himself into space.

* * * * * * * * * *

    “You all right?” Sully asked immediately as he reached the crest of the hill.  “Did I hurt you too much?”

    “I’m fine,” Michaela assured him, though the lines of pain in her face belied her words.

    “I don’t think so,” Sully countered, his eyes deep wells of concern as he gazed at her.  “But I promise you’ll feel better soon.”

    “I’m already a thousand times better, now that I’m with you,” she insisted.  “My eyes can even stand the light now.”

    “Good,” he said.  “That’s real good.”  He inclined his head toward the ridge opposite.  “See those rocks yonder?” he added.  “That’s where we’re headed.  Matthew and the others are right up there.”

    “I can’t wait to see him,” Michaela said longingly.  “It feels as if I’ve been parted from the children forever.”

    “That’s all over with now,” Sully vowed.  “Just a few more yards, and you’ll be together again—“

     Abruptly he stopped speaking as a sudden chill knifed through him. Simultaneously he felt the insidious sensation of needles pricking his skin, and his arms unconsciously tightened around Michaela.

     “Sully?” she said quickly, immediately alert to his apprehension.  “What is it?”

     “Nothin’,” he managed after a moment.  “Don’t fret . . .”  But she knew he was lying.

     “Sully, please!” she entreated.   “You don’t have to protect me.  Do you see him?”
 “No,” he answered carefully, taking one step forward, then another, fighting the urge to run.  “I just wanna get you to where you can rest.”

     “Sully,” she repeated with unexpected strength, forcing him to meet her eyes.  “Your face is deathly pale and you’re sweating.  Something’s wrong.”

     “I ain’t pale,” he protested lamely.  “It’s just your eyes, playin’ tricks—“

     “My eyes may be weak at the moment, but I’m still a doctor,” she reminded him briskly, lapsing into her professional persona.  “I can feel your anxiety.”  Gingerly she pressed her fingertips to his throat to check his pulse, then laid her hand on his forehead.  “I don’t need my eyes to tell me that your skin is clammy, and you’re experiencing palpitations,” she added.  “Please, Sully,” she urged more softly, “Tell me the truth.”

     “All right,” he capitulated finally, recognizing that she wasn’t going to relent.  “I don’t see him,” he added after a moment, referring to the scout.  “And that’s the truth.  But—I got this bad feelin’ . . .  I just wanna get you outta the open—“

     A shot rent the air, cutting off his words and reverberating in his ears.  There was a blur of motion above him, and Sully had the fleeting impression of a dark, malevolent bird swooping down to seize them in its talons.

     Bloody Knife dropped to the ground.

* * * * * * * * * *

    “Damn!” Hank cursed, frantically steadying and aiming the rifle again.  Matthew saw his finger contract on the trigger.

    “No!” the young man blurted, knocking Hank’s arm away.

    “What the hell are ya doin’??” Hank exploded.

    “He’s too close—you can’t get a clear shot—“ Matthew protested.

    “I’ll get a clear shot,” Hank growled, squinting into the glare of the setting sun.

    “I’m tellin’ you—don’t do it!” Matthew warned.  “He’s too close to ‘em.  ‘Sides, you can’t see through that glare.  You’ll wind up killin’ Dr. Mike, or Sully—maybe both!”

    Hank stared at him grimly.  “Don’t ya understand?  We may not get another chance!  Ya just gonna let him go?”

    Matthew’s face was implacable.  “We can’t take the risk,” he maintained.  “Not till he moves away from ‘em.  We gotta wait.”

    Hank’s flint-colored eyes drilled into him.  “Wait too long, and ya might just sign their death warrant . . .”

* * * * * * * * * *

    “You cannot leave,” Bloody Knife intoned, rising from his crouch.  He stood an arm’s length away from them, a blade the size of a butcher knife in his hand.  It glittered wickedly in the dying sun.  Sully watched it catch and reflect the light, while against his chest, he felt Michaela recoil.   Slowly his gaze moved to Bloody Knife, his eyes like twin vessels of blue fire.

    “Get outta my way,” he said, his voice soft and sinister.  He took a step forward.
 
    The knife suddenly floated before Sully’s face, sleek and sharp.  “Take another step, and she dies,” the scout promised.  The blade dipped to the hollow of Michaela’s throat.  Her pulse began to beat erratically, and she couldn’t suppress a tremor of fear for Sully and herself.

    Sully felt her trembling, and tried to turn aside to shield her with his body.  But the point of the knife immediately probed beneath his chin.  “I said, do not move,” Bloody Knife threatened.

    “All right,” Sully pacified him, keeping his voice neutral.  “Take it easy.  I’ll do what you want.”

    “We will see about that,” the Indian predicted ominously.  He lifted his head.  “You can also tell your friends to come out from their hiding place with their hands raised and their weapons in plain sight,” he called out in ringing tones, relying on the unique acoustics of the canyon to carry his words to Sully’s companions.

    Sully glared at him in impotent fury, but after a brief hesitation he reluctantly raised his eyes toward the ridge and gave an exaggerated nod.  “Do what he says!” he called to them.

* * * * * * * * * *

    The three men exchanged looks of anger and dismay.

    “We ain’t gonna just give in!” Matthew said harshly.

    “No choice,” Hank muttered.  “We don’t do what he says, we really *will* get ‘em killed.”

    Matthew opened his mouth to protest again, but broke off as he saw Hank tuck his pistol into his waistband at the small of his back, then conceal the gun beneath the hem of his vest.  The saloon keeper glanced over and caught Matthew watching, but didn’t speak.  A moment of silent communication passed between them and Matthew nodded slightly, then Hank rose to his full height, prominently holding up the rifle.  Matthew slowly did the same, grasping his own gun by the barrel.  Brendan followed suit.

    They filed out from behind the cover of the rocks, the weapons in their hands held aloft, and carefully began to descend to the desert floor.

* * * * * * * * * *

    Sully watched the figures of his friends as they emerged from their refuge, a host of jumbled, panicked thoughts crowding his mind.  He’d expected to confront Bloody Knife one-on-one; but always tucked into a corner of his mind had been the reassuring knowledge that his companions would be there to back him up.  Now that safety net was gone.  He hadn’t expected things to go this way . . . but he *should* have, he thought to himself darkly.  He should have known.  Over and over he’d underestimated Bloody Knife’s cunning; and now not only was Michaela paying, but his friends and stepson were in danger of losing their lives because of his short-sightedness.

    And yet, as wracked with guilt as he was about the threat to his companions, even that worry paled in comparison to his fear for Michaela.  He had to get her out of the way.  Somehow, he had to convince this madman to let her
go . . .

    Matthew, Hank and Brendan approached slowly and steadily.  When they were roughly fifteen feet away, Bloody Knife called out sharply, “Stop!”

    The three men came to a halt, standing in a ragged line.

    “Lay down your weapons,” the scout commanded.  They bent to comply, carefully placing their guns and rifle on the ground.  “Kick them away,” he instructed.  The men obeyed, and their weapons went spinning across the sand.

    Bloody Knife stood at an angle to Sully and Michaela, keeping the knife trained toward Michaela’s throat as he simultaneously watched the others.  He regarded them scornfully, then turned back to Sully.

    “Where is the Cheyenne?” he asked.

    Sully’s  eyes were hostile.  “I don’t know.”

    “A lie,” said the Indian.

    “The truth,” Sully countered.  “He was missin’ for days ‘fore we left to come here.  He don’t even know what’s happened.”

    “When I am—finished here—I will find him,” the scout said confidently.

    “Leave Cloud Dancin’ out of it,” Sully told him.  “This is between you and me.”

    “The Cheyenne is still a fugitive, and the Son of the Morning Star has a score to settle with him.  That debt will be paid,” Bloody Knife maintained.

    “Well, Custer don’t got a score to settle with Dr. Mike,” Sully said flatly.  “You done all you’re gonna do to her.  Let her go.”

    “Sully—!“ Michaela said in a choked whisper, but he ignored her, his eyes locked on the Indian.

    Bloody Knife’s lips curled into a half-smile.  “I do not think so,” he said.

    “I’m tellin’ you—she ain’t got no more part in this,” Sully insisted.  “You only used her to get to me.  Well now you got me.  You don’t need her no more.”

    “But she is so useful,” the scout remarked.  “As long as I control her, I control you.”

    “Look, I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Sully told him.  “We’ve had this appointment for a long time—I ain’t backin’ out of it.”  He regarded Bloody Knife steadily.

    “Let me take Dr. Mike to our friends.” he urged.  “You made ‘em get rid of their weapons—they ain’t no threat to you.  Let ‘em all go peacefully, and then you got me to yourself.

    “You and me, face-to-face, alone,” he said.  “That’s what you’ve wanted since the beginnin’, ain’t it?  Well now you got finally got your wish.  Release Dr. Mike and the others, and we’ll finish this.”

    “You are in no position to bargain,” Bloody Knife said sharply.  “I owe you nothing.”

    “That’s a matter of opinion,” Sully said levelly.   “But you do care about protectin’ your own skin, don’t you?  You don’t want to get into Custer’s bad books, runnin’ off without his permission and doin’ things he don’t approve of.  After all, he’s your hero, right?  Or is he more like your master, and you’re his faithful dog?  Who’s really in control, Bloody Knife?”

    The scout’s face darkened.  “No man controls me,” he said balefully.

    “Sully!” Michaela gasped under her breath, her eyes large and frightened.

    His hand tightened where it curled around her arm, and his eyes telegraphed a warning to her to be still.

    “Oh, I don’t know,” he went on casually to the Indian.  “You used to do Custer’s scoutin’ for him.  Now you’re doin’ his killin’ for him.  I’d say he’s pretty much got you under his thumb.”

    “I kill—or do not kill—for my own reasons,” Bloody Knife said menacingly.

    “Maybe so, but as long as you’re part of the 7th Cavalry, you’re still responsible to Custer,” Sully reminded him.  “You’re still responsible to the army.  And last time I checked, the army sorta frowned on its soldiers and scouts hurtin’  or killin’ innocent white folks.  What do you think Custer’s gonna say when he finds out you kidnapped and murdered a helpless woman—a helpless *white* woman?”

    “She attacked me!” Bloody Knife spat, roughly yanking the hair back from his left temple and revealing an ugly, imperfectly healed scar twisting from his cheekbone into the roots of his hairline.

    “You pathetic  . . .” Sully muttered in disgust.  “She fought back in self-defense—against an attacker twice her weight and size,” he said more loudly, his expression livid.   “And everybody’s gonna know it.  This story’ll be in every newspaper in the country, and who do you think they’ll blame?  You?” he sneered. “Nah, they’ll just hang you.  They’ll figure no Indian could be smart enough to plan somethin’ like this.   But they’ll *blame* Custer.  They’ll say it was his fault ‘cause he didn’t keep you in line.  They’ll say he allowed a renegade Indian to murder a white woman—maybe even ordered him to.”  He leaned forward, pinning Bloody Knife in his sights.

    “You’ll take Custer down with you,” he continued ruthlessly.  “He’ll go from a hero to a criminal.  They’ll court martial him and throw him in prison for the rest of his life . . . or worse.  You’ll forever be known as the traitor who destroyed the ‘Son of the Morning Star.’”

    Sully’s eyes had taken on that flat, obsidian cast that had so frightened Michaela weeks ago at the homestead, when he’d sworn to kill Bloody Knife and Custer.  Now with his relentless baiting, he seemed to be inviting Bloody Knife to do his worst—even to take his life, if it might save hers.  She couldn’t let Sully do this—she couldn’t remain silent and allow him to goad the scout into murdering him . . .

    She put her lips to Sully’s ear.  “Stop, please!” she implored him.  “I’m begging you, Sully—don’t anger him!  Don’t make him hurt you!   I don’t care about myself—I don’t care what he did to me.  I just want you to live—“

    “And I don’t care what he does to me—I ain’t lettin’ him hurt you no more,” Sully harshly  whispered back.  “I’ll do whatever I got to, if it’ll buy your freedom, and Matthew and the others.”

    “Sully—“ she entreated again.

    “Leave it be, Michaela,” he pronounced, with a look that silenced her.  He faced Bloody Knife again.
“So what’s it gonna be?” he challenged.  “You hurt Dr. Mike anymore, or kill her, and you’ll destroy your own life, and Custer’s in the bargain.  Let her go, along with the others, and nobody’ll ever know what took place here.  You can do whatever you want to me.  You’ll get the revenge you been waitin’ for.”

    “You ask me to believe that if I release them, they won’t go straight to the law?” Bloody Knife said derisively.  “When I can simply kill you all and leave no witnesses?  Do you take me for a fool?”

    “You’re a fool if you go on with this,” Sully answered.  “There are folks back in Colorado Springs who know we’re here, and why.  You think they won’t go to the army if none of us come back?  And what about Custer?  What’s he gonna do when you go missin’, and he finds out what you been up to?  You think he’ll just turn a blind eye?

    “Nobody here will  breathe a word, if I tell ‘em not to,” he went on.  “If they know that Dr. Mike’s life depends on it.  And even if they did, you’d be long gone before the law or the army could come after you.

    “Let ‘em go, and you and me will finish this,” he repeated.

    There was a long silence, as Bloody Knife contemplated Sully’s words.  “Take her to them,” he said suddenly, startling Sully with his abrupt reversal.

    “You’re serious?” he said suspiciously.

    “I have said it,” the Indian replied.  “Go, before I change my mind.”

    “No!” Michaela exclaimed to him in panic as Bloody Knife stepped back and Sully carried her the few yards to his companions.  “Sully, I won’t leave you!  I beg you—don’t do this!”

    Again he ignored her.  He reached Matthew, Hank and Brendan, and carefully lowered Michaela to the ground as they gathered protectively around her.

    Matthew embraced her tightly, then put his arm around her so that she could lean against him.  “Missed you, Ma,” he whispered tremulously.  She touched his face, too overcome for the moment to speak.

    “It’s good to have you back,” Brendan told her.  “We’ll take good care of you now.”

    “Sight for sore eyes, Michaela,” offered Hank, his expression unusually gentle.

    “Thank you—all of you,” Michaela managed after a moment.  “I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me.  But I need to ask for your help again.   Please stop Sully from doing this—from  giving himself up to Bloody Knife.  He’s determined to throw his life away for my sake, and I can’t let him!”  Though she directed her plea to their companions, her tear-filled eyes never left Sully’s face.

    “Michaela, there’s nothin’ they can do,” he told her quietly.  “Not without riskin’ their lives, and I won’t allow that.  All of you got a chance to get away clean, and I’m gonna make sure you take it.

    “I don’t want you to worry about me,” he insisted, sitting on his heels before her so that he could look into her eyes.  “I’m doin’ what I got to do.  What I been prepared to do for a long time.

    “We talked about this before,” he added more softly.  “We knew there was danger—we knew what could happen.  And now the time’s come to ‘pay the piper.’“  He smiled crookedly.  “We just gotta accept it.”  He reached out and caressed her cheek.

    Michaela seized his hand, ignoring the pain in her fingers.  “I can’t accept it!” she said brokenly.  “I can’t lose you like this!  Please, Sully—don’t leave me!”

    “Tell Colleen and Brian I love them,” he whispered.  “And always remember how much I love you.”  He gently pressed his lips to her hand, and then cupped her face in his palms and covered her mouth with his.  Michaela clung to him desperately, praying that time would stop—that this was all some horrible dream from which she would awaken any moment—but all too soon, Sully was pulling away from her.

    “No!” she cried out in anguish, and tried to rise from the ground to stop him, but Matthew and the others held her back.

    “Easy, Dr. Mike,” Matthew cautioned soothingly.

    “Gotta let him go,” Hank told her, his eyes sober.

    “I can’t!” she choked, breaking down and weeping harshly.  “I can’t . . .”

    Sully watched her with tortured eyes, but didn’t waver.  He glanced at Matthew.  “Remember your promise,” he said.

    Matthew swallowed hard and managed to nod, his eyes stricken.  Sully allowed himself one more look at Michaela, feeling the sight of her tear at his heart.  Then he deliberately turned away and walked back to where the scout waited.

    “All right—let ‘em go,” he said.

    “In due time,” Bloody Knife said, his eyes sly and calculating.

    Sully looked at him sharply.  “What are you talkin’ about?”

    “I cannot let them go before the—what is that phrase that the General is so fond of?” he queried himself.  “Oh yes—before the ‘piece de resistance.’  I would not want them to miss my final victory,” he added, an insolent smile hovering about his lips.

    “You lyin’ piece of filth,” Sully said venemously.  “You said you’d let ‘em go.”

    “In fact, I never did,” the scout contradicted.  “But—I will . . .in my own time.”  His smug manner suddenly altered, his eyes growing dark and sinister.  “I advise you to take care how you speak to me,” he warned.

    “I’ll speak to you any way I want,” Sully said recklessly.  “You can only kill me once.”

    “But I can do far worse things to your woman,” Bloody Knife reminded him ominously.  “I can hurt her in ways you cannot imagine.”

    “You lay one finger on her, and you’ll never have a moment’s peace,” Sully threatened darkly, his eyes stabbing Bloody Knife like daggers.  “You better kill me now, ‘cause if you don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my days huntin’ you down.  And even if you kill me, my friends and family won’t rest till they see you rot in Hell.”  He leaned closer, so that his face was just inches from Bloody Knife’s.  “And my spirit will come back and haunt you forever.”

    A muscle twitched in Bloody Knife’s impassive face—and did Sully even detect a twinge of fear in his eyes?  But the scout refused to give ground.  “You make a brave noise,” he said scornfully.  “But that is all it is—empty threats.”  His glance fell on Sully’s tomahawk, then flickered toward his knife.  “Lay down your weapons,” he said contemptuously.

    “Why?” Sully countered.  “Are you so scared of me that you think you can’t win ‘less I’m unarmed?”

“I am afraid of nothing!” Blood Knife spat.
 
    “Yeah?” Sully baited him, defiantly pulling his tomahawk from his belt.  “Then prove it.  You’re ‘sposed to be such a great warrior—or is that just another lie?”  He regarded Bloody Knife smugly, daring him to do his worst.  “C’mon,” he relentlessly goaded the scout.  “Are you a warrior—or a coward?”

    With a bellow the Indian rushed him, but Sully was ready.  As Bloody Knife’s arm came around, slashing his knife through the air in a wicked arc, Sully sharply brought up the handle of his tomahawk, bluntly deflecting the blade.  The impact made Bloody Knife stumble backward and Sully pressed his advantage, moving in on the scout and punching him solidly on the jaw, the entire force of his anger behind the blow.

    Bloody Knife landed on his back and Sully stood over him, raising the tomahawk and preparing to bring it down on his enemy.  For a split second he hesitated, summoning his resolve, but in that moment the Indian erupted, shooting upwards and launching himself at Sully.  Sully fell backward on the ground and suddenly Bloody Knife was pinning him down, one hand violently yanking at Sully’s hair, the other holding the knife to his throat.

    “Who is the coward?” he said gutterally, an insane glitter in his eyes.

    “Sully!” Michaela screamed.

    For a fleeting moment the Indian was distracted; and with a cry of rage, Sully pulled his hands free and knocked Bloody Knife’s arms away, tears of pain springing to his eyes as the scout ripped some of the hair from his scalp.  The two of them rolled over together—once, twice, a third time, grappling desperately.

    The spectators watched tensely as the momentum shifted back and forth between the two men.  Sully and Bloody Knife were evenly matched—*too* evenly matched, so that neither could get an advantage over the other.

    Matthew’s throat closed with fear as he watched the Indian try to overpower Sully.  Sully had successfully managed to elude Bloody Knife’s blade so far, but he’d have to tire soon, and if the scout got lucky with the knife just once . . .
 
    Matthew looked longingly to where their guns rested on the ground, mentally calculating whether he could close the yards to where they lay before being spotted by the scout.  Maybe he could, but if Bloody Knife saw and made Sully pay for it . . .

     No—it was no good.  Too much risk.

     And then it hit him.  Hank.  He glanced sharply to the long-haired man crouched to his left.  Hank’s eyes were riveted on Sully and Bloody Knife, avidly following their moves, their positions.  His hand rested lightly on his thigh, almost seeming to hover there, and Matthew could almost read his mind—instinctively sensing that the saloon owner was waiting for the chance to make his move.

     Another gasp of fear from Dr. Mike brought Matthew’s eyes sharply back to the conflict.

     The men were on their feet now and Bloody Knife was whipping the knife from side to side, forcing Sully steadily backwards toward the adjacent cliff-face.  Sully’s reflexes were sharp as he adroitly dodged the knife, but there was no time, no opportunity for him to aim a blow of his own.

     Suddenly he stumbled backward over a rock, briefly losing his footing.  Before he could recover Bloody Knife lunged forward, driving Sully back against the cliff as the knife drew a line of blood across his chest.  The base of Sully’s skull impacted with the stone and he sank to his knees, his eyelids fluttering.  The scout reared over him, raising the knife above his head and preparing to plunge it into Sully’s heart.

     “SULLY!” Michaela screamed again in a tone that chilled Matthew’s blood.

     On his other side, Hank was suddenly on his feet, his hand going to his back in a lightening blur.  The next moment he was cocking his pistol as Matthew breathlessly watched.  In one smooth motion the barkeep brought up his arm and aimed the gun squarely at Bloody Knife.

     Matthew heard a second gunshot explode on the air, and almost as if in a dream he saw Bloody Knife collapse to the ground and topple over on his side.  The Indian’s hand spasmodically went to his leg, where a flower of blood was rapidly blooming on his thigh.

     Matthew felt like he’d been sucker-punched.  All the air in his lungs seemed to be gone, and for a moment he couldn’t summon his voice.  But finally he could breathe again, and he stared in wonder at Hank.

     “You did it!” he gasped.  “You got him!”

     But Hank was looking at him strangely.  “Wasn’t me,” he said.

     “What are you talkin’ about?” said Matthew, startled.

     “Somebody else shot him—‘fore I had a chance to fire,” Hank answered, sounding just as stunned as Matthew felt.

     “But how’s that possible?” Matthew questioned, dumbfounded.  “Nobody here had a gun,
‘cept—“

     “That, Mr. Cooper, would be me,” said a voice off to his right, and Matthew turned sharply to behold General George Armstrong Custer.