The sun was streaming warm through the bedroom’s white curtains. Susan sat down on the big bed, flung open the closet and peered inside. “There, I knew it,” she said cheerfully. “Been tellin’ me for years to keep my things in order, an’ look at this mess now.”
    Alison smiled. “You got a point. But Susan, really, it’s not so urgent.”
    “Allie, you must rest. But you don’t want to rest, so let’s try to find something nice for you to do, while I take care of the fence.”
    “Right,” said Alison meekly.
    The closet was fairly large, with drawers, shelves and hangers. It was still Aunt Louisa's closet, the one the sisters had used for years. “So many memories,” said Susan, running her hand on a shelf. “But... Look here! Allie, it’s beautiful. Can I see it?”
    “Sure.”
    Susan gingerly took the Indian silver and turquoise necklace from the small jewellery box on a shelf. “Present from McKay,” Alison said in a low voice.
    “Really?! Allie - your man got taste!” Susan turned it in her hands. “I thought he had given you the nightgown for Christmas - and the book for your birthday...”
    “No, that was before,” said Alison, her cheeks suddenly hot.
    Susan replaced the necklace and looked at her impishly. “Hmmm, and exactly when, sis? You’ve always been so discreet about him - but now you’re married, you can tell me.”
    Alison briefly closed her eyes with a smile. She remembered the first touch of his hands on her body like it was yesterday, the first taste of his skin. “I’d like to.”
    “He’s such a romantic. But look at you, Alison, you turned beet-red! Bet he gave it to you with a kiss.”
    Alison laughed at her sister’s innocence. She wondered amusedly if she should get worried, given the absence of heirs on that side of the family even after a year of marriage. Was Eddie that dumb, she thought. She swatted Susan’s backside playfully. “Fence’s not mendin’ itself. I’ll tell you tonight at dinner.”
    “Deal. But you do a good job here, will you? Don’t you just take out everything and play with it.”
    “I won’t,” nodded Alison dutifully.
    “I’ll give you a hand to move the last things, of course,” Susan added. She spotted something else. “This one, for example, you won’t need it, it’s summer. We’ll put it in the upper closet, and...”
    Alison snatched the bulky, heavy Clan McKay plaid from her hands, suddenly annoyed. “Give that to me.”
    “Allie, it just takes up room. Why -”
    Alison started unfolding the plaid and folding it again. “Look, Susan, thanks for the help, but it’s perfectly useless to put the closet in order.”
    “But Allie, you said so yourself, you find it relaxing...”
    “Susan, not now.” Alison pressed her hands on her cheeks. “I can’t start putting his things away. I just can’t. It feels like - like...”
    “Oh, Allie,” whispered Susan.
    Alison pulled herself together. She grabbed her sister’s shoulders. “Susan,” she said firmly. “Go outside and mend the fence, or whatever you want. I’m going to cook - that’s as much relaxing as I can get now. Leave this closet alone.”
    “Allie - I’m sorry.”
    Alison put back the plaid, slammed the doors of the closet and went out of the room.
    
    “Almost dark,” said Sully. “We can’t keep up the search for long, today.”
    Cloud Dancing looked up at the sky, orange turning fast to red and violet, and nodded, holding his blanket closed against the Northern evening breeze. He was feeling close to frustration himself, but he kept it in. He knew Sully was in low spirits too, sorely missing Michaela and their children, not to mention still concerned and furious at McKay for having forced them to leave him. Cloud Dancing could tell by the breaches in his brother’s usual equanimity - he didn’t talk about the sergeant anymore, didn’t even refer to him by name, just muttering “stubborn fool” now and then, or some other synonym of thickheadedness. In those cases, Cloud Dancing just smiled.
    But it was a maddening fact that they had searched around the Eagle Top settlement for days now, without finding any traces of the Sioux village. They had managed to avoid Bannon’s sentries, and they had heard no commotion in the direction of the settlement, which was good; but they knew it was only a question of time.
    That evening they had even thought they were on the right track. And now they found themselves in the middle of a small, deserted bivouac in a clearing, with burned patches of ground and animal bones all around.
    “They only made camp here,” said Cloud Dancing. “It is very strange.”
    “D’you think we’ll be able to follow some tracks from here?” asked Sully.
    “Maybe tomorrow, by the light of day.”
    Sully sat down on a boulder. “They could be anywhere,” he said, dejected. “All we can do is wait for them near the settlement an’ try to stop ’em when they come again.”
    Cloud Dancing lifted his eyes to the still clear sky overhead, and a thought came to him.
    Sully looked up at him and smiled despite his tired body and soul. “What do the spirits tell you?”
    “To watch the geese,” answered the medicine man with a glint in his eye.
    Sully looked up. A flock of ducks was flying in formation above them. “Yeah, very nice,” he said distractedly. A gust of wind blew back his hair.
    Cloud Dancing watched him, amused. “What does a goose do when her nest is menaced?”
    “She fights,” Sully answered, perplexed.
    “This is her last resort. What does she do before?”
    Sully looked at him with reproach, then thought about it. “She pretends to be wounded -“
    “And draws the predator away from her eggs.”
    “You mean we’re searchin’ in the wrong place?”
    “Everybody is convinced Two Streams comes from the North...”
    “... while actually he’s nowhere in the vicinity.” Sully jumped on his feet. “Probably even on the other side of the settlement. It could be, Cloud Dancing!”
    Cloud Dancing placed a hand upon his shoulder. “What do you want to do?”
    “If we start at once we could gain time before it gets really dark, an’ find the village earlier, maybe even tomorrow. Then -“
    “You do not think we should go back and warn Sergeant McKay?”
    Sully fell silent. He looked down at the soft ground, following the brook that snaked through the tall grass. “No,” he said at last.
    “He would never betray us.”
    Sully let out a sorrowful sigh. “He’d feel forced to report it. He’d believe he could reason with Bannon, an’ he’d be wrong. All in the best of intentions. You wanna know if this means I don’t trust him? All right, I don’t trust him, any more.”
    Cloud Dancing looked grave too. “It may be that you are right,” he said. “The spirits are particularly silent on all that concerns Sergeant McKay.”
    
    The young Sioux sat on a rock by the river, watching the water gleam and glitter with the fires of sunset. His heart was heavy and afraid. He wore his hair simply tied behind his head, washed of the grease that usually kept it standing straight, and his face was clean of the red paint. His hand played in the chilly current, and his thoughts wandered down with it, down to a place where everything was confused together and forgotten, and hearts found peace.
    Hearing a step behind, he turned. It was his second-in-command. “The scouts are back,” he said. “There has been no movement in the Long Knives’ camp all day. I think we can safely start our raid tomorrow.”
    Two Streams just nodded. He had heard the unspoken reproach in Leaf In The Middle’s tone. His second-in-command was twice his age, a son of his grandfather’s younger sister, and though staunchly loyal, he had the habit of nagging him for days when he thought his chief had done something foolish. “It seems my choice was not wrong after all,” Two Streams said, cursing himself for being a little querulous.
    “It was an unnecessary risk!” Leaf In The Middle burst out. “No mercy, you told them. No mercy for anyone. Then why not killing him?”
    “You are boring, cousin,” snapped Two Streams. “I already answered you.”
    “You referred me to the spirits. That was not an answer.”
    “Do not dare to be disrespectful to the spirits.”
    “To the spirits, never. To you, gladly. He could have reported back to his commanders.”
    “He has not. Otherwise we would not be here.”
    “What if they were planning an attack, Two Streams?”
    “For all these days? Long Knives are not like this, Leaf In The Middle. When they sense a kill, they strike at once.” Two Streams smiled grimly. “It has been their undoing in the past, and it will be again.” If only he had more men. He could try to lure the Long Knives out of their camp and slaughter them at ease. But he had lost so many braves at the beginning, while he was still learning the tactics. Now that he knew what to do, his best warriors were running with the buffalo in greener plains. His eyes stung.
    “But you spared one of them,” Leaf In The Middle pressed on. “Was he not just like the rest?”
    Two Streams swallowed his tears and closed his eyes. He was tired and on the verge of telling off one of his elders and betters. How to explain to Leaf In The Middle that he really wanted all white men dead, he wanted them all to suffer the way his people had and more, he wanted no parleys, no compromises, nothing but blood to quench his fiery rage - and yet he had not been able to kill that one Long Knife? It had not been his white flag, his bravery in coming alone and unarmed. It had not even been the medicine bag on his chest - though that was definitely intriguing. All of that together wouldn’t have stopped Two Streams from killing the man. It had been something different, something coming from the depths of his very soul. A doubt. A question. A thought that would have brought to ruin all he believed in, if followed. How to explain all this to a seasoned warrior who understood only the fight, if he barely grasped it himself?
    He got up. “Tomorrow we will start our raid,” he said. “By the sunset after tomorrow we will attack the camp once again. We will kill as many of them as we can. There will come a day when they are tired and there are too few of them to remain here.”
    “Will not this happen to us first?” said Leaf In The Middle.
    This time it was not a reproach - it was just a question of a concerned commander. Two Streams looked once again at the rushing peace of the river. He had no answers and no alternatives.
    He walked back towards the village, his second-in-command gloomily tagging after him.
    
    “One thing’s certain, sir,” said McKay, looking at the map by the light of the candle. “We have to wipe ’em out.”
    Bannon turned to him, surprised. “Bloody-minded, McKay.”
    “No, captain. Merely practical.”
    They were sitting at Bannon’s table at Headquarters - a shack vaguely more dignified than the other dingy buildings of Eagle Top - supervising the last improvements to the fortifications. The place had the disadvantage of being rather open, despite the rocky formations that bordered it. McKay had suggested placing more and thicker sentries, so as to not simply warn the settlement about the coming of the Dog Soldiers, but also to hit them at once with a good volume of fire. The troopers had the advantage of co-ordinated fire, and they had to use it as much as they could. The other Indian War veterans had agreed, finding McKay much more interesting when he had started recommending a true slaughter of Two Streams and his braves, not a simple defence of the settlement.
    McKay was careful to hide his true emotions. His disillusionment, his regret at what he had resolved to do. It was the only way to save the village. Destroy the warriors and convince Bannon he had no more reason to stay. It could still be useless, if the captain decided to pursue the village issue. It could still be the end of the Indian settlement, deprived of all its young hunters. But it was still one chance more than letting Bannon discover the village.
    It was getting harder and harder to keep the secret, with everybody talking about it, making guesses on its location. McKay slept badly in the barracks, he was afraid he could talk in his sleep and ruin everything. Not unlikely, with his recent history of sleepwalking, or whatever it was that happened to him.
    “I’m impressed, McKay,” said the captain. “I must admit I wasn’t giving you much credit. All that coming and going. This is a forbidding place and many of my men have asked for transfers, but you lost five in less than three days. Good riddance, frankly - your scouts were a worry, and your corporal was getting on everybody’s nerves - but I thought this didn’t bide well for your command abilities. I’m beginning to change my mind.”
    McKay merely bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. Bannon had been the only man he had been able to talk to after Winters’ departure. McKay detested Pyle, fully reciprocated, and got along with Hartford, but only avoiding certain topics - there was something in Hartford that disturbed him deeply, if only the fact that he twirled his prize scalp around his fingers while he chatted merrily. His own men - McKay couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was a sort of distance, as though they had found more in common with Bannon’s men than with him, even a good and trusty man like red-haired Bill Coverdale. He was sorry for Travis’ scurvy; the young Southerner was a rock of tongue-in-cheek reliability, and he felt his absence sorely. Just like he felt guilty for the way he had treated Sully - somehow, Cloud Dancing had looked less hurt by his sending them away - and just like he was continually surprised at how he missed not being able to yell at Winters. God only knew where he was. Sometimes McKay found himself about to address the corporal aloud, only to remember he wasn’t there. But with Bannon, McKay had been able to talk long and seriously, and he had come to know him enough to be glad of his appreciation. Although it made all the more difficult not to spill the beans about the village.
    “Session is adjourned, gentlemen,” said Bannon at last. “Tomorrow we’ll make the final preparations. Good night.”
    Lieutenant Pyle and Sergeant Hartford got up, saluted and went out of the barrack. McKay was staring at the map with his own pencil marks on it, not seeing it anymore. He rose in his own good time, taking his hat and gloves from the table and his sabre hanging on the back of the chair. Bannon had insisted that the soldiers wore sabres even when no actions were foreseen. Good for the morale, he had said. McKay kept his under his arm more often than not, scabbard and all, as in that instance. But he had to admit Bannon’s tactics worked on the men, and on him too.
    Captain Bannon was so different from Colonel Marlowe. Marlowe had ridden through the war without hiding his thorough disgust and spite for it all - made one wonder what he was doing in the Army, if the answer were not self-evident in his military qualities. But Marlowe was no inspirer of men. He cheered them up showing that he shared their worries and sorrows, for all his gruff appearance; at gunpoint he was a good leader because everybody knew he would get them out safe as long as he had life and blood in him; but nobody would have felt the fire of battle just by looking at him. It was no coincidence that he had been slapped his colonel’s eagles on and booted to Fort Skunk, where his unconventional view of war would have been of no hindrance anymore.
    McKay felt that fire by looking at Bannon. He fought it easily - he was just too tired and dejected to wish for battle. And yet he could not help recognising it, in a way that probably had never really happened to him during his career, mostly wasted among the various Woodens, Morrisons and Colemans. Not to mention O’Connor.
    Bannon had gone to stoke his stove. He looked over his shoulder. “You still there, McKay?”
    “I’m goin’, sir.”
    “Try to get some sleep. You don’t look so good to me. Tomorrow we’ll have a full day.”
    McKay nodded and didn’t move.
    Bannon turned, concern in his voice. “Something wrong, sergeant?”
    McKay’s mind was in a flurry. What if he did tell him about the village, after all? What if he trusted the captain? They could save lives, attempt another parley, avoid the next attack - Two Streams had spared him once, he could listen to him and Bannon together, appreciate their good will.
    But what if it happened the other way around? What if Bannon told him to attack the village, and he did? What if he unleashed that hidden fire? Was there any hidden fire anyway?
    “No, sir,” he heard himself saying. “Good night.”
    He backed out of the shack and of the confrontation, and trudged towards the barracks and another restless night.

    The sun was barely out from the rocks to their left. Sully and Cloud Dancing had started off before the dawn, hoping to circle fast around the settlement and search the lands to the South of it. Cloud Dancing’s insight had given them new energy; they rode in earnest, because they knew time was running out.
    The shot rang out suddenly among the rocks, zinging past them and hitting the stones at their feet. Cloud Dancing’s horse reared up, and he grabbed its neck not to fall down. Sully looked around. “No!” he shouted, lifting his hands, whoever was hidden in the rocks. “We come in peace!”
    From the rocks came out five troopers on foot, armed to their teeth. In a moment they were surrounded and held in the line of fire by five rifles. Sergeant Hartford came forward. “Look what we have here, McKay’s scouts. You should be in Colorado Springs by now!”
    “We can explain,” began Sully.
    “No explanations! I never trusted you. We detected some movement around here - we weren’t sure, but now it’s obvious you’re up to somethin’. Hand me your weapons an’ follow me. Quick!”
    “Wait a moment, sir,” Sully said, hands held up. “If you look inside my jacket, you’ll find somethin’ that’ll make it all much clearer, I’m sure.”
    “What?” asked Hartford, suspicious.
    “A note by Colonel Marlowe.”
    Hartford regarded him askance. “What’s this? You workin’ behind your sergeant’s back?”
    “Look for yourself.”
    Cloud Dancing stared straight ahead. He was impressed by Sully’s coolness in playing his bluff. Now, what actually was in that note, that was going to be a surprise for everyone...
    Leery, Hartford stepped forward, the muzzle of his rifle against Sully’s chest. He held out his left hand, arm extended, fished into Sully’s inner pocket with the tips of his fingers, and retrieved Marlowe’s sealed note.
    “Pray it ain’t a ruse,” he said. He used his thumb to break the seal, opened the paper with a snap and took the message in at a glance. Sully and Cloud Dancing saw him lift his eyebrows, draw them together, then lift his eyes and shake his head while looking into the distance. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Can tell that kind of thing from a mile away. An’ that young corporal too - wonder what they’ve seen in this damn war, eh? But we all know what.”
    Sully and Cloud Dancing looked sympathetically at him, not daring to speak.
    “This goes for Bannon too?” asked Hartford.
    Cloud Dancing’s heart fell again.
    “Yes,” said Sully, confidently.
    The man nodded and folded the papers again. “Do what you need,” he said, and shook his head again, regretfully.
    Impassive, the two mounted their horses and started off at a regular canter, until they were out of sight of the sentries. Then spurred their horses at a gallop, just to be on the safe side. At last, when they were far enough, they stopped by a brook in silent agreement.
    Sully impatiently plunged his hand in his pocket and took out Marlowe’s paper. He started reading. He almost laughed, then went very gloomy - a reaction not unlike that of the sergeant. Cloud Dancing looked interestedly at him. He could have read his own, but trying to guess from his brother’s face was much more intriguing.
    Sully briefly raised his chagrined eyes on him, then started reading aloud, slowly. “I certify that the bearer of this letter has been charged by me to supervise the actions of Sergeant Terence McKay, who is suspected to be suffering from serious depression. You are requested to give the bearer of this letter the utmost freedom of movement and keep the matter confidential. Signed: Colonel J. M. Marlowe, Sixth Cavalry, Commander of Fort Lafayette, Colorado Springs.”
    Cloud Dancing nodded thoughtfully. “Colonel Marlowe is a clever officer.”
    “Yes... but the most worrisome thing is he knew this was believable,” Sully said. He shook his head. “Marlowe’s known McKay for twenty years. If this is true, McKay's totally unreliable.”
    “Would he be less dangerous if he were completely rational?” mused Cloud Dancing.
    Sully slowly shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. One thing’s certain, Cloud Dancin’... we gotta find that village soon.”
    
    Susan and Alison had just finished a good breakfast, when they heard steps on the porch. “Hey, Alison, Susan! Are you in?”
    “It’s Michaela,” said Alison with a smile. She got up and went to open the door. “Hi, Mi - “
    “Look what I’ve found at the station,” beamed Michaela. At her side stood a young trooper, smiling broadly.
    “Eddie,” gasped Alison.
    “EDDIE!” exclaimed Susan. She pushed out of the door and threw herself in the arms of her husband. “What are you doing here?”
    “Hi, darling. I missed you.” Eddie Markham kissed Susan heartily, then looked at her sister. “Alison. I wanted to check on you both, see if you need anything.”
    “Hi, Eddie,” she said. “Thank you. You here just for this? You didn’t hear something or...”
    “Hear? No, nothing. I haven’t even been at the fort. I’m not taking advantage of your hospitality, am I?”
    “No, not at all.” Alison couldn’t possibly find any objection in Eddie’s presence, seeing how it had made Susan happy. “You’re welcome here. Please, everybody come in.”
    “Alison,” Michaela said when they were in the kitchen, “I’d like to visit you, to check if your pregnancy is proceeding as it should.”
    “Yes, Michaela - Just a moment. Eddie, are you staying? I’ll get out my old bed...”
    “No, no, thank you, Alison. Got to go back to Headquarters tonight. I just wanted to spend some time with Susan here,” he pressed his wife affectionately, and she smiled at him, “and talk a bit to you.” The blond trooper sounded embarrassed. “You know, we’ve never gotten along that well, but I want that to change. We’re family.”
    “Oh, well, Eddie, thanks.” She was truly moved. She was only a bit startled that he had to say it there and then, in front of Michaela, who surely had her worries about Sully. “Everybody, sit down. You too, Michaela. Want some cake?”
    “Thank you, Alison...” said the doctor with a meaningful glance.
    “See, he’s good to me, Allie,” Susan said, beaming. “You never really believed it.”
    “Come on, Sue,” Alison said. “I did. You told me, so I believed it. And McKay always spoke highly of you, Eddie.”
    Eddie was touched. “I’m glad to hear it. I was so sorry about that spat we had when I married her. He had always been a good commander. I’ll take a slice of cake, thanks.”
    “Please do.”
    Eddie bit into the cake. “Wonderful. Sure, I owe so much to McKay. He was our instructor in Denver when we enlisted, you know, Winters and I. How’s Winters? I gather he’s out on the mission too.”
    “Yes,” said Alison.
    Eddie laughed softly. “I don’t know how we didn’t drive McKay crazy back then. Yeah, he was good. He had that something, you know. Just one look at him, and one wanted to be like him.”
    Michaela, who had been following the exchange with growing concern, jumped in. “Now, Alison, thanks for the cake, I’ll visit you and go on with my round.”
    Eddie was still lost in his recollections. “Maybe it was the fact that he had always been one of us, so to speak. The soldiers adored him.”
    Alison got up abruptly. “Will you please stop talking about him as if this was a bloody wake?”
    Michaela stared at her, stunned. Reddening, Eddie attempted an apology. Susan leaped up and grabbed Alison. “Sorry, folks, be back in a minute. Eddie, have a chat with Dr. Quinn, ask her if they’ve found a cure for idiocy, will you, darling?” She conveyed Alison in the bedroom and shut the door.
    Eddie floundered. “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean...”
    Michaela looked at him sweetly. “You know, Private, there is no definitive cure, but there are many remedies to alleviate it, in fact. You want me to tell you about the latest breakthroughs?”
    
    When the door closed, Alison walked straight to the opposite wall, barely stopped before smashing against it and turned, her hands lifted as though she had plunged them into something icky. “Sorry, Susan, I, I just...”
    Susan walked straight to her and embraced her. “Sh-sh-sh, Allie, it’s all right. He ain’t bad, really, he’s just a bit dim. I know how you feel.”
    “No, you don’t.”
    “I do. He’s been sent in dangerous missions too. I didn’t write because I didn’t want to worry you. But I’ve been through it.”
    Alison sat on the bed, shaking her head. She didn’t believe Susan had ever seen Eddie so worn out with worries and forebodings like McKay those last months.
    “Look,” said Susan, sitting beside her and lifting her chin with a finger, “you may not believe me, all right. We’re talking about you here, Alison. You can’t do this to yourself. Not now, not with the baby.”
    Alison straightened her shoulders, her eyes dry and bright. “I can’t help it. That’s me, Susan. That’s him - he hates this as much as I do. You should have seen his face when he went away, the look in his eyes...” Her voice cracked, but she caught it. “It’ll always be like this. It’s a divide between us, and neither of us can bridge it. I can’t stay away from him, I’m not Mrs. Marlowe, and I can’t force him to change his life for me. So I’m sorry, but it’ll happen again, because he will come back - but then he’ll go away again, and again, and again, and Eddie better pray he’s not in the vicinity.”
    “Oh, if that’s the problem,” shrugged Susan, “you can insult him as much as you want.”
    Alison looked at her with a new light in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said fervently. “I’m looking forward to it.”
    
    At sunset, the men were well positioned on the rocks of Eagle Top. They had been briefed carefully by McKay and they had ammunition enough. With a little luck, they would succeed in their intent.
    “Everyone at his post,” said Bannon. “Keep your eyes open.”
    He himself took place close to Headquarters, the last stand in case the renegades had managed to overcome all other defences. It had been reinforced with sacks full of dirt and was well-provided with ammunition. “If necessary you shall keep this post with me,” said Bannon to McKay, and added joyfully: “You remember, don’t you? Fire all shots but keep the last one for yourself.”
    “Sure,” said McKay bleakly.
    The captain checked that Lieutenant Pyle and Sergeant Hartford - the latter just back from his reconnoitring mission and mysteriously full of suspicious glances towards McKay - had been dispatched to the Northern and Southern posts. All the men of the settlement were preparing their weapons, ready to fight to the last.
    McKay checked his pistol and his rifle. He wondered where Sully and Cloud Dancing were. Or whether Corporal Winters would make it back in time with Marlowe’s men. Or even if Marlowe had granted him his help. He couldn’t bring himself to contemplate the eventuality that something had happened to the corporal on his way South. He wondered about Two Streams - he asked himself once again why he had been spared. Was it possible that the Dog Soldiers’ leader was beginning to ask himself the questions McKay had mulled in his mind probably from before Two Streams was even born? Was it still possible that there would be no new attack?
    But especially, the thought that never left him, he wondered how Alison was faring, she and her child...
    His mind was so far away, so lost in his private dreams and nightmares, that when the call came from the rocks above the settlement he just lifted his head, thinking idly he’d slept little the nights before and had had no rest during that whole day of waiting, and that he wished his annoying headache went away.
    All around him people had jumped on their feet and were running to and fro in the last red shadows of the sunset. He snapped to attention and listened to the shouts of the sentries. The Dog Soldiers were coming forward in their same old style.
    McKay looked around and saw Bannon running towards him, rifle in hand. “Take cover!” the captain was shouting. The sergeant ducked behind an old wagon and started taking aim with his rifle. He saw the screaming cloud fall on them in a moment of apparent havoc. But each trooper positioned on the rocks or behind the shelters was shooting precisely now. He aimed at a warrior and felled him. He fired in the middle of the hostile mass and hit somebody else.
    A rider came almost straight at him. Over his rifle’s primer he met Two Streams’ eyes. He didn’t fire. He knew the Sioux had recognised him. Two Streams went on to fire at the men among the barracks, veering at the last moment with a piercing war cry.
    Somebody else’ll shoot you, thought McKay. Could as well have been me. What’s the use? What’s the use of it all?
    McKay looked around and saw that the renegades had tasted painfully the determination of the soldiers to destroy them. They halted, uncertain, then drew back, leaving some five or six on the ground. They had no cover. Two Streams was apparently quick to grasp the situation. Some of his men covered, shooting towards the settlement, and McKay had the feeling that three or four of them had dismounted, disappearing between the rocks. Woe to the sentries who were going to have the braves sneak unseen on them. There was nothing to be done now.
    Bannon was firing from behind a boulder. He shouted some orders to the men hiding among the barracks. He was dramatically visible. Two Streams made a gesture to his men, and they all converged on the captain, unheeding of the covering fire from the soldiers. Bannon drew his sabre.
    McKay jumped out of his shelter, firing wildly, and rejoined Bannon behind the boulder just as a shot scattered sparks all around them. He threw himself down, gave the captain his gun and began reloading frantically as the captain went on shooting with his left hand. McKay turned to fire on the Indians and, as he shot one of the closest, he saw Two Streams fall.
    Just what I told you, you fool, he thought desperately, sickened by the waste, the senseless death. He hadn’t seen who had shot the young chief. Probably the troopers had not even realised it yet.
    But the Dog Soldiers had. They were lost, without a guide. For a moment there was a lull in the closer shots, and McKay heard the noise of a struggle up in the rocks. The sentries were giving battle to their stealthy attackers. They were not covering the Southern post anymore. The renegades, whether on the impulse of a collective mind or by the prompting of a second-in-command, turned their horses and sped towards the Southern gap.
    Towards the village.
    From the Northern rocks came again the sound of many hooves. Lt. Pyle’s squad was galloping to pursue the Dog Soldiers. Bannon got out of his shelter, dusting his clothes. “Good, Lieutenant!” He waved his sabre. “Everybody, saddle up! Let’s follow them and wipe them out!”
    McKay jumped on his feet and crossed Pyle’s path, shouting “STOP!”
    The lieutenant reined in, his horse scattering dirt all around as it made a half-turn. His men halted behind him. “Are you mad, McKay?” he bellowed.
    A good question. McKay was still reeling under the shock waves, barely aware that he had just given an answer to at least one of his doubts of that reckless moment at Headquarters, the evening before.
    “We can’t follow them,” he said quickly.
    “What?”
    Now think fast. McKay turned for authority towards Bannon. “It’s a trap, sir.”
    “What kind of a trap?” exclaimed Bannon, sabre still in hand, motioning for his horse to be brought to him.
    “They know the place better than we do,” answered McKay, as cool as he managed to be. “We mustn’t let ’em choose the terrain. We gotta lure ’em into fightin’ at our own conditions.”
    “Won’t be necessary. We’ll just follow them and kill them to the last man.” Bannon mounted.
    “I wouldn’t advise it, captain,” said McKay sternly. “It’s needlessly dangerous. They won’t recover from this. We killed their leader.”
    “Did we?” exclaimed Bannon.
    McKay pointed at the mass of bodies. Two Streams lay face up, eyes closed, his youthful features marred by blood mixing with red paint.
    From the Southern post Sergeant Hartford was approaching, rifle on the shoulder. “They tried to sneak up on us, but we were smarter,” he reported. “Seems they got what they came for, sir.”
    Bannon looked around and back at his blood-thirsty troopers, then at the rocky outcrops. The shadows were falling rapidly. He slipped his sword in the scabbard. “All right,” he said, “it’s getting too dark. Let’s tidy up here and take care of the wounded.” He dismounted again, taking his horse by the reins and handing it to a private. “Later we’ll decide what to do with them.”
    “But sir -“ objected Lt. Pyle, bristling.
    “That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
    McKay let out a long, silent, relieved breath. He had made it. At least for now, he had avoided the possibility of a massacre. It was not over, yet now he had time to think and talk.
    Bannon motioned to some troopers still on foot. “Bury the dead,” he said softly. Then he turned towards McKay. “I’d like to discuss with you what happened here, Sgt. McKay. I’m trying to study their battle tactics, and...”
    Somebody screamed “Watch out!” - one of the troopers taking care of the dead, a sudden flurry of movement, “WATCH OUT!” The dying Two Streams had gotten hold of a rifle. Bannon turned, hand dropping to his gun, McKay had barely the time to reach out, to try and get him out of the way, and the rifle went off.
    Everybody still for a moment, then Bannon crumpling backwards, as McKay held out his hands to grab him, falling down on his knees in the attempt to hold him up. “You damn...!” shouted Pyle, raising his rifle and firing. Two Streams’ body lifted from the ground in a spray of blood and fell back lifeless.
    “They shot the captain!” screamed Sergeant Hartford, reaching for a horse. “Let’s kill ’em all!”
    “After them!” bellowed Lt. Pyle, waving his rifle and motioning onward. In a murderous rage the troop spurred forward.
    “No!” cried McKay. He lowered his eyes on the wounded Bannon, trying to see where he had been hit. God, there was blood everywhere. “Hang on, sir, I’ll get help -“
    “McKay,” whispered the captain. Blindly, he held out a bloody hand, brushed his face and grabbed his collar, pulling him close with unexpected strength, “remember, McKay, remember, you have to...”
    “What, sir? What?”
    The whisper in his ear faded too quickly for him to understand. The hand released him suddenly. Bannon fell back, vainly supported by McKay’s arm. He stared beyond the sergeant, beyond the rocks and the dusky vault of the sky. He was dead.
    McKay lifted his eyes in anguish. Some of the soldiers and civilians were already running to help him. The first torches were being lit, spreading like sparks from a wood fire. As the men gathered around Bannon’s body, McKay got up, looking at the troop vanishing in the dust towards the Southern post. He ran to get his horse and climbed up. “Hah!” He spurred it into a gallop, trying to catch up with the maddened soldiers.
    
    They were at the village in no time, or so it seemed. The fires glowed red in the darkness. McKay had run after the troopers, unable to overtake them, vainly screaming at them to stop. He doubted they could hear him, and if they did, they probably thought he was urging them onward. There were his own soldiers among them. Their random cries echoed together and sounded strangely attuned and rhythmic, like the strains of a Dies Irae. At the first sight of the fires, Lt. Pyle turned triumphantly and shouted something, and the men rushed onward in a bloodlust, sabres drawn.
    The surviving Dog Soldiers came out from among the tepees and gave rise to a heated fight. However most of the troopers just poured on the defenceless village. McKay desperately followed them, hoping he could at least prevent some damage, and found himself in the middle of chaos.
    Now this was weird. The soldiers kept circling round and round, screaming and shooting, upturning tepees and setting them on fire, but the village was deserted. Only now and then a lone Sioux appeared and fired at them, and was immediately cut down. No women, no children, no elders. A trap? Indian magic? McKay was ready to believe anything.
    With the suddenness of a physical blow everything seemed to slow down. The soldiers spun around him like leaves in a lazy whirlwind, their mouths open, colourless, soundless, apart for an eerie noise like a swarm of bees. Their hooves made no thumps, rather thundering vibrations within him. McKay thought it was his head that was spinning, and he lowered his hands on the neck of his horse to steady himself. He shut his eyes and reopened them, to no change.
    Except that now all the soldiers had O’Connor’s face.
    This was ludicrous. A second-rate nightmare. McKay squeezed his eyes shut again and bit hard on his lip. Sounds came back to him. When he looked, everything was back to normal, if you could call normal a vandalic and beastly raid.
    He couldn’t just stand there hallucinating. He noticed that some soldiers were heading out of the village, towards the river, and from that direction came the sounds of more shots. He spurred onward and went after them.
    They had found some Indians hidden in the woods by the river and were slaughtering them to a feeble resistance. “Stop!” he yelled once more, hoarsely. Some five or six soldiers, heedless of him in the uproar, dismounted and ran after an Indian woman.
    Before he knew, his hand had dropped to his holster, unbuckling it.
    What am I doing? he thought in a flash, drawing his gun and lifting it. That meant certain death. He’d faced certain death before, in the line of what he thought was his duty. Was this time any different?
    He had no time to think. The rush of the river was loud in his ears. He looked in the swarming uniformed mass and took aim, trying to evaluate where he was likely to do the most damage. Forgive me, he prayed, he didn’t know who to.
    Then he saw something moving at the corner of his eye.
    He reined in with his left hand, gun still pointed. Coming out of the trees, an old Indian crossed his path. McKay lowered at once his weapon and shouted at him to go away, run, hide! Something impalpable nagged at the borders of his consciousness. He thought suddenly he recognised the old man, and at the very same time he noticed he was armed.
    Astonished, he saw the Indian lift his rifle, aim straight at him and fire.
    
    Alison woke up suddenly, eyes wide in the darkness.
    Beside her in the large bed, Susan stirred. “Allie? What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
    She shook her head, disoriented. They had just gone to bed after driving Eddie to the station, but her heavy forehead felt like she’d been sleeping for days. “I don’t know,” she said.
    “Lie down,” said Susan jumping out of the covers. “I’ll get you something...”
    Alison felt her belly. The baby was all right, though there was nothing yet to tell her so. She was all sweaty and shaking. “Must have been a nightmare,” she concluded. “I - I’d like something to eat, yes, Susan.”
    Her sister lit up a lantern and scuttled away towards the kitchen. Alison fell back on the pillow. She just couldn’t stop trembling. A nightmare, just a nightmare. A little fever too, maybe.
    She pulled up the covers around her, unable to disguise to herself what she felt. It was pure and simple fear, and the dreamlike echo of a piercing pain. Her heart beat so madly, she thought it would burst.
    Susan came back padding quickly with a glass of milk and some bread and raspberry jam. “Here, get this down. You’ll feel better. You want me to fetch Dr. Mike?”
    Alison gulped down some milk and shook her head again. “Would you please -“ She checked herself, then thought, what the hell, it’s Susan. “Would you please open the top drawer of my dresser?”
    “Sure,” answered Susan, perplexed, and went to do as asked.
    “Under the stockings,” Alison directed her.
    “There’s only a big yellow handkerchief.”
    “Give it to me.”
    Susan took it. Only when she was about to hand it to her sister did she realise what it was. She raised a compassionate look on her. “Oh, Allie...”
    “Thank you,” said Alison, taking it with a shy smile and pressing it between her hands and against her lips.
    
    “They’re in the woods!” bellowed Lt. Pyle in the chaos. He was having some trouble to collect his men, who seemed content of setting fire to tepees and smashing pots. “There’s more of ’em out there. Let’s get ’em!”
    He heard a thumping of many hooves behind him. He turned and saw in the light of the fires a fresh troop advancing among the debris. “Reinforcements!” he cried gleefully.
    “But we don’t need reinforcements,” said a private, puzzled.
    “An’ nobody asked for ’em,” added Sgt. Hartford.
    The commander of the newcomers looked around grimly from under the broad brim of his white hat, then approached the lieutenant and faced him. “I’m Colonel Marlowe. What’s goin’ on here?”
    “Welcome, sir. I’m First Lieutenant Pyle. As you can see, we’re giving a good lesson to these damn Injuns. They shot Captain Bannon, sir.”
    “Where’s Sgt. McKay?” asked Marlowe.
    Pyle looked around. “He was with us, I think.”
    “You think?” repeated the colonel, anger building. “First Lieutenant, you got no idea of what happens to men under your command?”
    “It’s been all quite frantic, sir, and I...”
    “Is Bannon dead?”
    “I - I don’t know, sir, he was being taken care of...”
    “You know nothin’ about your commandin’ officer either?” shouted Marlowe. “Lieutenant, you’re in deep trouble! Get your men outta here, we’re takin’ over.”
    Pyle lowered his head, and gestured to some of his soldiers. Most were still shooting here and there. “This is one of the worst messes I ever seen,” said Marlowe aloud. He looked around. The village was a heap of ruins, but there were very few dead, whether troopers or Indians. “Winters!” he called. “Go out there, see if you can round up the rest.”
    The corporal nodded, gestured to two of Marlowe’s men and went towards the sound of the last shots, towards the river.
    
    They advanced, carefully in the dark. One of the men held a burning branch to light the way. As they approached the river they found a few more bodies still, all Sioux men. Then Winters saw some troopers on foot, looking around in the bushes. He recognised them as men from Fort Lafayette.
    “Hey you there!” he called.
    They turned and saluted sheepishly.
    “Corporal! Whatcha doin’ here?” exclaimed Bill Coverdale. He was minus his hat, and looked flushed. He somehow felt the need to explain himself. “We were, you see, we were lookin’ for Injuns out here.”
    Winters looked around, unable to avoid the sight of Collins wearing a bone breastplate as a trophy. These men were his comrades, his friends, for God’s sake! They didn’t look like they were hunting for braves - their guns were holstered. At least it seemed like they hadn’t found whatever they were looking for. He felt a deep revulsion.
    “Reinforcements,” he said coldly. “You seen Sgt. McKay?”
    “No, sir. He stayed at the settlement.”
    “No, he was here with us,” added Collins. “Didn’t you see him?”
    Winters shook his head glumly. “Rejoin the others at once.”
    “Careful, Corporal,” said one of the men, “it’s full of Injuns out here.”
    “Just go.”
    Winters gestured his two men to spread, then he entered alone into the woods that lined the river. “Is there anyone here?” he called. “Sgt. McKay! You here?”
     He looked around. Suddenly somebody answered from the thickets. “I am glad to see you, Corporal Winters,” said Cloud Dancing’s calm voice. He emerged from the woods, followed by Sully.
    “Glad to see you too!” exclaimed Winters. “What’s been happenin’ here? Where’s Sgt. McKay?”
    “Isn’t he with you?”
    “No, I’m with Col. Marlowe.”
    “With Marlowe?” Sully and Cloud Dancing looked at each other.
    “Look, Winters,” Sully said finally, lowering his voice and coming forward. He took Winters' horse by the rein, prompting the corporal to bend down on its neck and listen closely, “there’s a hundred Sioux villagers just beyond this river. How about it?”
    Winters looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t know whatcha talkin’ about, Sully. To me it’s clear as day this village’s practically deserted.”
    Sully nodded with a thankful smile. “Come on, Corporal, let’s look for Sgt. McKay. You go towards the hills, we’ll have a look out here.”
    
    The night was deep by now. One of the soldiers had given them a torch, and they were roaming the banks of the river with the utmost care. They could hear the waters rushing, they saw the pale glimmer of the moonlight. The branches they pushed aside were wet with dew, and the pebbly soil was drenched and squashy under their moccasins.
    “McKay!” called out Cloud Dancing.
    “Look for the horse too,” Sully warned him. “Big brown charger, white star on the head. Even if they shot it down, should be hard to miss.”
    “I have not seen dead horsed around, Sully,” said the Cheyenne.
    Sully nodded, hope returning. He looked down. It was impossible to distinguish anything in the mess of human and animal footprints. “We gotta find him. If he’s wounded, he may be in peril of his life. McKay!!!”
    “Sully,” said Cloud Dancing, softly, touching his arm.
    Sully turned and saw him pointing towards the river. First he saw the horse, standing quietly, head down. Then he noticed the soldier lying in the mud, some twenty yards from the river.
    They ran and knelt by him. McKay lay on his back, right arm extended away from him, close to his gun. In the light of the torch his uniform was darkly stained, the chevrons on the left sleeve all but torn away. There was caked blood on his face too. Sully’s soul rejected that sight. Numbly, he laid a hand on the sergeant’s chest and was jolted by the realisation he was still alive.
    “McKay!” he called earnestly. The blood on the left side of his body was fresh and seemed to come from a single gunshot wound high in the left arm or shoulder. Cloud Dancing stuck his torch deep in the muddy ground and started checking him, opening his shirt to help him breathe.
    McKay stirred and turned his head. His face was covered with grime and gunpowder, his hair falling in disarray on his glittering eyes. “Sully,” he whispered through parched lips. When Cloud Dancing touched his arm he flinched in pain.
    Sully sat on his heels and stared at him, lost in a jumble of contrasting thoughts. He was enormously relieved McKay was not dead, although he looked pretty bad. Yet there he was, in the aftermath of an Army raid against a harmless village, his gun drawn. Sully didn’t know whether to believe his heart or his fears.
    Cloud Dancing checked his upper arm carefully. “The bone is broken. We have to splint it.” He cut the sleeve away, then got up to search for two sticks.
    “How’s all the rest of you?” asked Sully, a bit reassured.
    McKay drew up his knees. “Alright, I reckon,” he said wearily. He tried to sit up, cradling his arm. Sully circled his shoulders and supported him.
    “You broke it fallin’ from your horse?” he asked.
    “No. An Indian shot me. Don’t know why.”
    “You don’t know,” repeated Sully in a whisper.
    “I was tryin’ to stop the soldiers. He came outta the bushes an’ shot me. I thought he’d seen me aim at ’em...”
    Cloud Dancing was back with two straight, solid branches a feet long. Sully looked at the sergeant, stunned. “Aim at ’em? You were about to fire on your own men?!”
    McKay nodded slowly, eyes staring at nothing. He barely grimaced when Cloud Dancing set the fracture, something that would have elicited a scream from anybody in his right mind.
    “He is in shock,” said the Cheyenne.
    A pang of remorse and relief shot through Sully. He tightened his hold around the sergeant’s shoulders. “McKay - We saved most of ’em. You gotta know this. We managed to evacuate ’em beyond the river before you came. The soldiers only found the last stragglers. They didn’t bother to pursue ’em ‘cause they thought Marlowe would.”
    “Marlowe made it here?” said McKay, showing a weak spark of interest.
    “Yes! He’s over there with Winters, assessin’ the damage.”
    “I tried to stop ’em at the settlement,” he said again, as if by rote. “Most Dog Soldiers were dead, Two Streams was hit, I’d managed to stall the soldiers - then he shot the captain, he killed Captain Bannon. They went mad. I ran after ’em, I tried...” His voice trailed away.
    “If you held them even for a little while, it means we managed to put ten or twelve people more to safety on the other side of the river,” said Cloud Dancing warmly, tying the splints to his arm with bands of cloth from his shirt sleeve. “It is important that you were here, Sergeant McKay. You made a difference.”
    “Where’s the old Indian?” McKay asked urgently.
    Sully and Cloud Dancing looked at each other. “Which old Indian?”
    “The one who shot me.”
    “There were no old Indians here,” Sully said.
    “Yes,” McKay protested feebly. “Came outta ’em bushes an’ shot me. You know. You must remember him.”
    Sully couldn’t mask his deep concern for him. “Terence,” he said, as gently as he could, “we brought all the elders, women an’ children to safety first. There were no old men in the camp when you arrived. You musta seen someone else.”
    Confused, McKay tried to grasp the image, but it faded in a painful mist. It had to be a dream. Yes, only a dream. He let his eyelids fall heavily.
    “Need a litter, quick,” said Sully.
    “I will bring one here,” said Cloud Dancing, getting up.
    “No, I can walk,” the sergeant claimed. He looked around distractedly. “Where’s my horse?”
    “Right behind you. An’ here’s your hat an’ gun. I’ll put ’em in your saddlebag. But you ain’t movin’ from here till we get a litter.”
    Worn out by the exertion, McKay sagged back. Sully helped him lie down again carefully, trying not to jar the wounded arm. He took off his buckskin jacket and covered him to keep him warm.
    The sergeant grabbed Sully’s arm with his good hand. “What’s happenin’ to me, Sully?” he whispered shakingly, panic in his eyes.
    “Rest, now,” Sully said in a soothing tone. “You’ll be all right, Terence. Rest an’ save your energies. We’ll get you back to the settlement - an’ you’ll be back home in no time.”
    McKay drifted off again in a drowsy daze. Kneeling on the ground, Sully stood watch over him, as he waited for Cloud Dancing to come back.
    
    They got all the wounded to safety during the night. Among them were ten Sioux, who were taken as prisoners of war and brought to the settlement to be cured. By the light of dawn began the recovery of the bodies. At the village there had been a total of twenty-two victims, of whom five troopers, seven Sioux - no women or children - and nine Dog Soldiers. Twelve Dog Soldiers and ten troopers, among which Two Streams and Captain Bannon, was the death toll at the settlement. The wounded were many. It was impossible to account for missing Sioux.
    It had been no Washita but no cup of tea either, thought Corporal Winters as he roamed the remains of the village on his horse. He had not washed or shaved and barely slept and eaten for days, but he wasn’t able to unwind yet. He just let his horse pick its way among the debris, holding by the pummel of the saddle and looking around wearily. He felt a sad relief at the sight of the empty tepees, of the soldiers taking away only bodies of grown-up men.
    He passed among the last Indian dead, as the men in couples took them by their arms and legs and brought them away towards a mass grave just outside the village. The sun was beginning to peek among the trees. Winters run the back of his hand on his mouth and stared at its brilliance, mesmerised.
    His horse was ambling towards the river, not far from the place where Sully and Cloud Dancing had found McKay. It was looking for grass, dipping his head capriciously among the shrubs. Winters was about to check it and turn back, when he heard, or rather he felt something in the bushes. At first he thought of a rattlesnake. Then he saw the leaves vibrate wildly and understood. Someone was hiding in there, and was shaking so badly that just couldn’t keep still.
    Winters dismounted silently and drew out his gun. He approached quietly - he doubted that anyone in there could hear him, with all the racket coming from the bushes. At last he drew back the branches and pointed the gun. “Don’t move!”
    He found himself staring into the dark terrified eyes of a Sioux girl, all curled up on herself and shivering like a leaf in a hurricane. He put away the gun at once and lifted his hands. “No, don’t be afraid,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. See? I’m a friend.”
    Even if she could understand, the girl was in no condition to react. Winters gave her a quick look: she didn’t seem to be hurt. He advanced cautiously, hands spread in a gesture of peace. She coiled up even more tightly, hiding her face against her knees.
    Now what on earth was he supposed to do? Report and leave her there? She seemed to be bewildered and freezing, and who knew what wild beasts roamed those woods. Winters made a decision. He stepped forward, bent down and gathered the girl in his arms, lifting her up. For a moment she lifted her fists as though to fight him, then she collapsed and laid her head on his shoulder. Feeling how cold she was, moved by her vulnerability, he held her to his chest.
    “I’m takin’ you home,” he said softly.

    The camp infirmary had been set up in the old sawmill, a place unbelievably dirty and unwholesome. One of the soldiers had lost his leg and another was still battling for life. The makeshift doctors walked quickly with their bloodied aprons among the stench and the cries of the wounded. Sully and Cloud Dancing passed silently between the two rows of cots and noticed McKay’s place was empty.
    “Checked out this afternoon,” said a young man lying in the cot beside his with a bandaged head. “Looked all right to me.”
    After a quick search in the settlement they found him at Headquarters, sitting at Bannon’s table and writing a letter. His splinted left arm, freshly dressed, hung from his neck. He lifted his eyes upon them. “Letter for Alison,” he said. “Gonna send it to her at once. Colonel ain’t lettin’ me go.”
    “He is right,” said Cloud Dancing. “You could have lost your arm. He wants to check that you are healing well.”
    “How d’you feel?” asked Sully.
    McKay bit at his lower lip as if the question required a reasoned answer. “Fine.”
    “Look,” Sully went on, “I’m sorry for not trustin’ you. If I had, we’d’a come back before, an’ warned you we’d discovered the village...”
    “Wouldnta made no difference,” he said bitterly. “I’m the one who shoulda trusted you. If you two had been with me when I went to parley with Two Streams, maybe we’d’a spared a lotta more lives.”
    “Terence,” said Sully patiently, “you mustn’t feel guilty. We did all we could for those people, an’ we saved most of ’em. You coulda done nothin’ more.”
    “I ain’t feelin’ guilty,” said the sergeant morosely.
    “You havin’ a bad time, I can tell that.”
    “I ain’t goin’ nuts, Sully. I seen other battles. It’ll go away, like it always does.”
    Cloud Dancing too was looking at him with concern. He was about to speak, when suddenly in burst Winters.
    “Sergeant, glad to see you outta bed, sir. Cloud Dancin’, gotta talk to you.”
    “Yes?” asked the Cheyenne politely.
    “What’ll become of Keeps Her Word?”
    McKay lifted his head. “Who?!”
    “The Sioux girl I found in the woods.”
    “Didn’t know that, Winters. On a first-name basis already? I can't believe it.”
    The corporal coloured slightly. “Badly scared, poor girl, but otherwise she’s fine.”
    “She will rest, now.” Cloud Dancing said.
    “I mean after now.”
    Cloud Dancing looked at McKay. “She will be brought to some reservation together with Leaf In The Middle and the other prisoners,” he explained. The sergeant looked away.
    “Is there no chance she can rejoin her people, the ones who got away?” Winters asked. “I'd'a brought her to them, had I known where...”
    Cloud Dancing sighed. “With the village reduced to old men, women and children, it is possible they will find their way to the reservation too.”
    Winters nodded sadly. “An’ there, will they live as they always did? Will she... will someone...”
    Cloud Dancing finally grasped what the young man was driving at. “Corporal Winters, Keeps Her Word was married to one of Two Streams’ warriors. Her husband died. She will mourn, and then she will get married to someone else. She does not have any family: she will need somebody to take care of her.”
    Winters’ face fell. “But if I helped her, you know, like goin’ there sometimes an’ bring ’em somethin’...”
    “You’re hopeless, Winters,” said McKay with the shredded ghost of a smile. “’sides, you ain’t gonna do nothin’ of the sort. They won't let you.” But obviously he was proud of the warm and human, if somewhat misguided, concern of the corporal for the Sioux - that pride was the first positive emotion he showed that day. And even more than proud, he looked relieved. He lowered his eyes on the table and nodded to himself, having found an answer to a private last doubt.
    Sully and Cloud Dancing looked at each other. “We’ll let you finish the letter, McKay. See you later.”
    He nodded again, then resumed staring at his paper. “Winters,” he said in a low voice, “fetch me Colonel Marlowe, will you?”
    Winters looked at him, darkening suddenly, then darted out of the door.
    
    “You are worried for him,” said Cloud Dancing to Sully as soon as they both were outside.
    Sully looked back at Headquarters. “He ain’t himself. Ain’t puttin’ this thing behind his shoulders as he oughta.”
    “He is afraid he could have done much more.”
    “No, that ain’t it, Cloud Dancin’. McKay ain’t the man to dwell on what coulda been.” He looked at his brother, bitterly. “I saw it too many times in the war, for as little as I was in it. You don’t havta look for a reason. His nerve’s gone. It snapped, just like a rope pulled too tight. He seen a lotta battles, says he. Right. He saw one too many.”
    Cloud Dancing elbowed him slightly. Sully turned, and there stood Winters, looking wide-eyed at them, hurt, unbelieving at the sudden confirmation of his fears. Behind him, Marlowe knocked on Headquarters’ door and entered without waiting for an answer. The corporal shook his head slowly, attempted a rebuttal, then his eyes just filled with tears, all the worry, tension and pain finally catching up with him too. Making no attempt to hide the wet tracks streaking his dirty cheeks, he turned his back, soldier-like, and walked off towards a quiet place to cry.
    Cloud Dancing sighed. “He knows it, too.”
    “What do the spirits tell you?” Sully asked him, saddened.
    The Cheyenne medicine man looked up. “No geese to help me this time.” He returned his peaceful look on Sully. “I have told Sergeant McKay that he cannot walk two paths at once. But there are more than two paths he can choose from, Sully. He will understand.”
    Sully looked at him, unsure whether he himself understood Cloud Dancing’s words, and hoping that Sgt. McKay found the right path to peace.
    
    “You should be in bed,” said Marlowe.
    “I’m fine,” said McKay, folding the letter. “I need somebody to take this at once to Colorado Springs.”
    “All right. Need somethin’ else?”
    The sergeant laid down the pen and ran his hand over his mouth, staring at the table.
    Marlowe took a chair and sat astride it. “Look, I’ve already forwarded the request for your promotion. To put it bluntly, McKay, they’ll take into consideration your state of service, not certainly this action. You did damn good, man, but it won’t look as such in Washington. It was a botched attempt at best, an’ even for that, Bannon’s lads will take all the credit.”
    McKay shrugged his right shoulder. His feelings were sort of muffled - apart from his longing for home, and his rage. A blinding rage, wordless and confused, because he had no one to take it out on. Rage for the death of Two Streams and Captain Bannon, rage for what had happened in the village, rage for what they had done to him.
    “I’ll see that you have your raise in salary, though,” added Marlowe. “You deserve it.”
    McKay almost didn’t hear him. He thought back of all the times his being in the Army had made a difference. Maybe it was true that this time he had been influential, like Cloud Dancing said. Before, he had managed to solve the Red Needle problem, useless though it may have been, and, more important, he had helped Sully clear up Windy Creek. And speaking of Sully, McKay’s presence had really weighed for him and Cloud Dancing two years before. Had there been another man in command of the Palmer Creek reservation back then, the Cheyenne medicine man would have been dead, and possibly Sully too. This was hard to put aside.
    And then there was his entire life. The guidance his Army training had offered to him as a callow adolescent; that feeling of belonging, so important for a young man often too brusque and reserved to create lasting friendships; the inner reassurance of obeying a superior duty and the knowledge of doing an important job and doing it well, which had built his character, turning him into a responsible adult.
    All that was gone, now, and he was furious about this too, like one sometimes is furious with a loved one who has died, for having been left alone. It had been gone since long before his answer to Marlowe had even formed into his mind, even before he had made his choice that night. The awareness, the rage didn’t make it less agonising. Actually those were the most painful words he had ever been forced to say.
    “Colonel Marlowe - please accept my resignation.”
    Marlowe stared at him.
    “You can’t,” he whispered.
    “Sorry.”
    “Terence -”
    McKay turned his face away, not to see the shock and pain in his commander’s face, knowing it was the end of a part of Marlowe’s life too.
    “You - you just can’t do this,” the colonel insisted. “We’ll find a way. You’ll rest an’ get well.” He hit his fists on the back of the chair. “Dammit, man, the Army still needs you! More ‘n that... we all need you in the Army. You know that.”
    “I’m sorry, colonel,” McKay said, “someone else’ll take my place. As for me - I don’t need the Army anymore.”
    He got up and saluted with regretful respect. Before Marlowe even had time to collect himself, disentangle from his chair and answer the salute, McKay had left the room.

    Alison heard the thumping of hooves while she and Susan were cutting the potatoes for lunch. She looked out of the window, dropped everything and ran to the door. She opened it and stood wiping her hands in her apron, looking at McKay as he walked slowly up, holding his horse by the reins. She took in everything at once: his bandaged left arm hanging from his neck, his civilian attire, the sack on his shoulder, the hell showing through his face. She didn’t need to ask.
    McKay put down his sack. He saw Susan on the doorstep. “Mornin’,” he told her.
    Susan answered with a nod and an uncertain “Sergeant McKay.”
    Alison went to him and embraced him as tight as his wound allowed her, closing her eyes, losing herself in the feel of him.
    He held her to his chest. “I bargained to keep the horse,” he said smiling, as if that made everything all right.
    At that, Alison started sobbing, as she hadn’t been able to do yet. He lovingly caressed her back, looking at their house. His eyes were dry, and his smile faded slowly.
    

The End