The black night sky was pouring down with the last rains of June. Dr. Quinn's family was all too happy to be sitting around the table, chatting quietly over the remains of dinner. As Sully sat with Katie on his knees, verifying once again what new words she had learned that day, and Michaela absently considered having another slice of cake, Brian was clearing the table.
    "When will we be able to visit Colleen and Andrew in their new house in Philadelphia, Ma?" he asked.
    "Soon, Brian." Michaela smiled and picked up once again the letter which lay on the table. "She says she can't wait to show us what a beautiful place they've found. And they'll come back to see us as soon as they're really settled."
    Brian stopped by the window, lit up by flashes of lightning, and stared out.
    "Hey," he said, suspicious, "there's Sergeant McKay outside in the yard, talkin' to himself."
    Michaela got up quickly and placed a hand on the boy's forehead. "Brian, I told you not to stay out playing in the rain! You've got a fever."
    "Aw, Ma!" protested Brian just as somebody knocked.
    She exchanged a puzzled look with Sully, then opened the door. A drenched Sgt. McKay greeted her. "Evenin', Doctor. You got a dog?"
    Wolf lifted his head from the carpet before the fire. "Thought so," added McKay, stepping quickly in front of a startled Michaela, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. "'Scuse me." He closed the door behind him. "That'll do."
    "See, Ma?" whispered Brian, offended. "Now take his temperature!"
    Sully smiled, noting Katie's interested stare. "The Army must've got time on their hands to go checkin' on family pets."
    "That's not why I'm here. Fact is, there's this cat outside, followed me all the way from town. Amazin', what with bein' on horseback, the rain an' all. Can't shake him. Didn't want him to come in pesterin' your dog."
    "Wolf's a wolf, sir, not a dog," pointed out Brian, diffidently.
    Michaela took McKay's greatcoat and hat and hung them close to the fire. Sully kept playing with Katie. "Beside bein' on horseback, is he armed?" he asked without looking up.
    "Who?"
    "The cat."
    McKay blinked. "Reckon I started off with the wrong foot here," he said calmly. "Forget about the cat, Sully. I got important matters to discuss with you."
    "Well, Sergeant," said at last Michaela, offering him a chair, "it's been months since the last time we saw you. Don't you just stand there. Coffee?"
    "Thank you." McKay sat down at the table and turned to Sully, reaching inside his blue jacket. "What do you make of this?"
    In the palm of his hand lay a small Indian ornament, like a net stretched over a wooden ring. It resembled the dream catcher which hung over the mantelpiece, but was more crudely wrought. It was dirty with mud and dry leaves, frayed in some places.
    Sully turned it between his fingers. Michaela had sat down beside him and taken Katie in her lap. "It doesn't look like those made by Cloud Dancing," she said.
    "No, for sure," added Sully. "I can't tell which tribe it belongs to. Where did you find it, Sergeant?"
    "Don't wanna influence you," answered McKay, looking intently at him.
    "Is this some kind of test?" he asked. The sergeant merely lifted his shoulders. "Well then," Sully went on, "here's my guess. This ain't Indian makin'. I'd say some white man crafted it, to sell it as Indian merchandise or somethin'."
    McKay looked relieved. "Close enough, I hope." Brian obligingly put down a steaming cup before him. He thanked the boy with a nod and gratefully took a sip of coffee as it was, hot and black. "It was found on the site of a burned farm, some fifty miles West from here, deep into the Rockies."
    "I've heard of it!" exclaimed Michaela. "It was in the Gazette last week. It was a miracle no one got killed."
    "Yes," said the sergeant. "The people at the farm swear it’s renegade Indians. They seem ready to start retaliations on any Indians they find. I been sent with my men to placate 'em an' make Army presence felt. But first I wanted your opinion."
    "Don't look among Indians," stated Sully. "Where exactly was the farm?"
    "Windy Creek."
    "Mining zone," said Michaela slowly, growing more and more outraged.
    "Yes." Sully looked at her. "Someone wants that land for gold."
    "Where's the problem?" said Brian helpfully. "See who buys it an’ put him in jail."
    Sully laughed softly, tousling the boy's hair. "Good reasonin', Brian. But we wouldn't be able to prove it, an' it'd be very difficult to give back the land to its lawful owners."
    "Gotta catch 'em red handed," added McKay, finishing the coffee. "Must go now. My men are still unpackin'." He got up and took his things.
    "Where're you quartered?"
    "Out East, beyond the railroad. Just stopped at the Mayor's to ask him for permission. After last time, I don't wish to feel unwanted."
    "I suppose Jake had no objections," said Michaela.
    "I don't think he even saw me, ma'am. He was discussin' his new home with Mrs. Slicker. Just said yes an' showed me out." McKay looked amused. "I didn't know he got married. Quite taken with his wife, ain't he?"
    Sully just smiled, stealing a glance at Michaela.
    "There have been a lot of changes around here lately," she said. "Last month our Colleen married Dr. Cook and went to study in Philadelphia."
    "Congratulations!"
    "And Grace is expecting a baby, and Preston went bankrupt."
    McKay was impressed. "Well, life goes on." He put on his hat.
    "Must you really go, Sergeant? Your coat is still wet."
    "Indeed I must, Doctor. Thank you." He nodded at Brian and went to the door.
    Sully accompanied him outside. "Let me know if you need a guide for Windy Creek," he said, walking close to the house. "I know the place."
    "Any other settlements up there?"
    "Coupla farms an’ a mission."
    "We'll check on 'em. If you come to the camp tomorrow mornin', we'll make some plans."
    McKay reached his horse, and as he was about to mount he noticed something under the porch steps. "There he is," he said, pointing with his chin.
    Sully turned. In the light from the window he saw a small dark cat taking shelter there, looking at them with brilliant yellow eyes.
    "You want him?" asked the sergeant, hauling himself into the saddle.
    "He's just a kitten. Wolf would make a nice dinner of him." A thought struck Sully. "Say, McKay, how d'you know it's a him?"
    "Well, he's black." He noticed Sully's perplexed stare. "I mean, it's just the - overall feelin'..." He saw he was heading for deep trouble. "Must go. Goodnight, Sully."
    He turned his horse and sped away in the lashing rain.
    Sully came back into the house. He hadn't had time to get wet, as Michaela quickly verified with a good hug. Brian, holding Katie, was now sitting sleepily by the fire, propped against Wolf's strong back.
    "Good man," said Sully, "but he knows nothin' 'bout animals."
    "Did you tell him about tomorrow's opening?"
    "I forgot. Well, so much for the better. The New 'Ladies for Temperance' League doesn't need the Army. It'll be a mess as it is."
    Michaela smiled. Then she looked out of the window. Sheets of lightning swept the sky, and thunder rattled the glass. "This fake dream catcher - it makes me furious. Do you think the people up there are really in danger?"
    "We'll do everythin' we can to keep 'em safe," promised Sully. "An' us all." He leaned in to kiss away the lines of worry around her mouth.
    
    It rained on Colorado Springs, on the rich and the poor, the townsfolk and the Army. It rained hard and unmercifully on Preston's bank too. The road outside was all a puddle, deserted, empty of life and brightness. A shadow ran up the steps and rapped softly on the door. The door opened, a faint line of light. Then it closed again. Outside, the rain drummed on.
    Preston put down his lantern on a table and fed the flame a little. The stranger took off his dripping coat and was about to lay it on a chair.
    "Not there," said the banker, prissily. He couldn't afford to paint the furniture anew yet.
    The man looked at him with contempt. He folded his coat over his arm. "Let's make it quick, then. It really seems that things are heatin' up at Windy Creek."
    "Is that a fact?"
    The man made Preston wait for the answer. He was looking about the room, gaunt and shabby, incongrous amid the framed certificates and pictures and the velvet-lined furniture. It was clear he had no use for all that luxury. Preston wondered whether he guessed how much all of it was a façade. If he hadn't sold the house Sully had built for him and his elder brother hadn't loaned him the money to keep the bank open - which stung him sorely - he wouldn't have been able to recover from the previous month's bankruptcy. He would have had to crawl back to his father. His pride had revolted at that.
    "Seems they sent the Army to look into it," the man said at last. "Seems it's just Injun raiders. But I happen to have talked to somebody who knows better."
    "Who?"
    "Sorry, mister," sneered the man. "That ain’t in the agreement. Ya pay me, I tell ya when the people up at Windy Creek are ready to sell. Nothin' more."
    "I'd like at least to know who else is interested in the deal."
    The stranger shook his head. "The less ya know the better."
    Preston looked at him. They exchanged a strange sort of mutual disdain. "All right," said the banker, hiding behind one of his shining smiles. He took out a roll of dollar bills from his pocket and handed it to the man.
    "Much obliged," said the man, affectedly. He put on his leather coat, opened the door and went out in the pouring rain.

    Standing on a table in the middle of all the Colorado Springs townsfolk, while her sister Susan played a cheery hymn as background music, Alison Lowell looked down at the dozens of upturned faces and stifled a sigh. She was dying of embarrassment.
    It had been easy, even fun, to rent the abandoned stable behind Robert E's house, to ask Sully to repair the woodwork of their old cottage piano, to put the place in order... It looked so fine, now, with the board "Ladies for Temperance" shiny under the faint sun. The day had turned out fairly good, though the main road was still covered with puddles. But Alison did not feel her little speech had gone down well.
    "As long as ya don't come wreckin' my place," said Hank with a mocking grin.
    "Say, Miss Lowell, I got nothin' against improvin' people, but you sure you're up to this?" inquired Jake, momentarily at large while Mrs. Slicker took her afternoon nap at home.       
    "Our strength comes from Above," answered Alison, trying to sound convinced - and to copy faithfully Dr. Mike's accent. "And we have no intention of recurring to violence. All we want to do is open this place on Saturdays afternoon and give support to those in need."
    "I thought that was what the Reverend did on Sunday mornings," joked Sheriff Simon.
    The Reverend lifted his head as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. "On the contrary, I think it's a good idea," he said. "We could easily check on Sunday morning whether Saturday afternoon resolutions have brought fruit."
    Alison hadn't thought of that.
    "Will it be safe for two unmarried young women to receive people of all sorts?" asked Michaela sensibly.
    The two unmarried young women looked at each other.
    "That's right!" exclaimed Loren. "Neither your age nor your appearance puts you above danger!"
    "Especially now," said Horace, "with the Army back in town."
    Susan was indeed pretty, a rosy-cheeked little doll with dark curls and upturned nose; besides, she played the piano beautifully. Alison knew she herself was not unattractive; though the difference of age didn't play in her favour, she strongly believed in not letting oneself go, even when life got tough. Before she could speak, Michaela said again, "I think you should at least have somebody with you. Somebody of the highest respectability, to watch over the proceedings by turn."
    "Yes!" smiled Horace. "Somebody like you, Dr. Mike, or like Miss Grace. Or Miss Dorothy, or the Reverend. Or even Loren."
    "Of course," nodded Loren emphatically. "Somebody old enough, or ugly enough, or married enough to be above temptation."
    Dorothy flashed a fiery glance at him. "Where does that leave me, Loren?"
    "Er... 'course I was not talkin' about you, Dorothy. You're Dorothy, that's all. You're... you're like the Reverend."
    Dorothy did not look pleased. Reverend Johnson looked perplexed. Robert E, an arm around Grace's shoulders, exchanged a doubtful look with Daniel Simon. Hank was having the time of his life.
    Alison pressed the bridge of her nose between two fingers.
    Susan stroke a low resounding note on the organ. Alison braced herself and tapped a foot on the table. "All right, I declare open the New 'Ladies for Temperance' League. Today is Saturday and so we'll have our first meeting at once. Should we have any need of it, we'll call a chaperone. Thank you. You may go."
    The crowd began dispersing. Hank walked away with a sly grin, heading purposefully towards the saloon.
    
    Alison slid down from the table and remained sitting on it.
    "No one stayed," said Susan, dejected. "I knew it."
    "You were the one who insisted for it," retorted her sister. She had gone along with that absurd plan to give some intellectual nourishment to the girl herself, not to the Colorado Springs inhabitants, who were either virtuous by themselves or, from her point of view, a lost cause. Since the two sisters had left Denver four years before, the bright, lively Susan had grown more and more bored. Alison did not understand how one could be bored with a farm to run. She knew the girl missed the lights and life of the city, but knew also that the Denver she missed was the one she could never get back to, the city of the Christmas days around the fire and the races down the summer hills, when their parents were still alive.
    "Maybe it was not a good idea after all," sighed Susan.
    Alison felt her own heart saddening for her. She tried to bury her misgivings. "Someone will come," she said, reaching out to her. "And if nobody does, we'll find something else. Cheer up, come on." It felt strange to be the one to try and raise Susan's spirits. Usually it was the other way around. Alison lifted her head, hoping to see somebody approaching, and indeed she did.
    So many people. She almost laughed with joy, until she realised the group was led by Hank.
    Susan turned expectantly and stared at them, perplexed. Alison stiffened. She jumped down from the table, ready to meet them. Hank had with him his bartender, three girls and a handful of customers. They looked ready to have a good time tearing down the stable.
    "Mr. Lawson," Alison said menacingly, crossing her arms. "Looks like you're in the wrong place."
    "Not at all," answered Hank with a roguish grin. "You see, Miss Lowell," he added in a humble tone, hand on his heart, "my friends an' me, we're all devoted to gamblin', drinkin', fornicatin' and swearin', not necessarily in this order. Is there somethin' ya can do for us?"
    "I don't think so. You're kindly invited to leave." Too late. Hank's friends were already swarming through the stable’s big doors and around the sisters, looking about the place, touching everything. The bartender was now sitting on Alison's table. A girl sat down at the piano and tried a few notes of a dubious song. "Hey! Leave that alone!"
    "You can come here one at a time," added Susan helpfully. "Only then will we be able to help you."
    "Help us," repeated Hank, with a glance at his girls. "I'm grateful. Really. I'd like to see ya try it. Come on, help us."
    "First you must allow us..."
    "Stop that, Susan," said Alison in a hard tone. "Now, Mr. Lawson, be reasonable and go back, or I'll call somebody." Sheriff Simon. Could she send Susan to fetch him, and remain there alone? Horace had mentioned the Army. Where the heck were they when they were needed?
    Susan bristled under the scrutiny of one of the girls, who was eyeing critically her modest hairstyle and high-necked dress. "I actually kinda like the place," said Hank, strolling around. He stopped before the portraits on the wall of the stable and held out a hand to straighten one up.
    "Don't you dare touch that!" yelled Alison.
    Hank was doubly surprised - by her ringing voice and by the subject of the portrait. Marjorie Quinn. Michaela had given her permission to display a photograph of her deceased sister, adding "She would have liked it."
    Hank let his hand fall. "Great woman, that one," he said, in a somber tone. He turned to Alison. "If ya doin' it for her - my best wishes. Come on, folks, back to our den of vice." He grinned and took off his hat to Susan, who just looked at him, astonished. Girls and drinkers filed out after him.
    
    When they had disappeared back inside the Gold Nugget, Alison let out a sigh of relief.
    "Don't you think you've been too hard?" asked Susan. "We could really have done something for 'em, if only..." She trailed off, unsure.
    Alison looked fondly at her kind-hearted sister. She was about to reply, when she noticed someone else coming towards the League. She could hardly believe her eyes. Three men in dark-blue uniforms, striding down the road. The answer to her prayer for the Army, about a full minute late.
    Susan was again smiling widely. Alison however did not abandon her grim stance as they came closer. There were a private and a corporal, both rather young and callow. Their sergeant looked some five or six years older than her, a tall, tough, strongly-built man with a certain regularity of features.
    "Sergeant Terence McKay," he introduced himself curtly. "I was..."
    Alison cut him off. "Better late than never, Sergeant."
    "I know. Sorry. I learned of the openin' from Sully, but couldn't leave the camp earlier."
    The man knew nothing of Hank's raid, Alison realised. She warded off a kick in the shin from Susan. "Well, then, excuse me, sir." She motioned them inside, feeling stupid and anxious to patch up things. "Please take a chair," she told the sergeant. "I'm glad you came. I'm sure we'll be able to do something for your soul."
    McKay waited for them to be also seated, then took the place they offered him, taking off his hat. There was a vaguely amused crease at the corner of his mouth. "Not me, no, ma'am. My men here. Thought they needed a li'l straightenin'."
    Alison coloured. Unshaven and rather careless of his uniform - dirty neckerchief, neck button unhooked - the sergeant actually did look like the booze-and-fluff kind. She had imagined the two soldiers were just his escort. Well done, lady, carry on.
    She sighed. "Forgive me, Sergeant. I'm Alison Lowell, and this is my sister Susan."
    "My pleasure. Meet Corporal Winters and Private Markham. They're a couple of my best elements, but they just don't seem to be able to keep themselves out of trouble. I'm sure you can do somethin'."
    The two soldiers stood there looking sheepish. As befitting his rank, Corporal Winters seemed the brightest of the two, a slim, dark young man with an inquiring gaze. Private Markham was smaller and more conventionally attractive, with droopy blue eyes and a mop of blond hair.
    "All right," said Alison, "but we'll need a chaperone."
    "A woman or man of the highest respectability," quoted Susan. "To watch over the proceedings."
    McKay seemed to know what a chaperone was. "You can have me," he said.
    Alison and Susan looked at each other. The younger sister quickly got up and swept the other in a corner, with a look of excuse to the sergeant. "We cannot have him," she told her urgently. "Remember what Mr. Bray said? He doesn't fulfil the requisites."
    McKay couldn't hear what the ladies were saying, but he clearly saw Susan lifting three fingers and ticking off the first two. Alison looked thoughtful. "You married, Sergeant?" she asked aloud.
    "No, ma'am."
    Susan ticked off the last finger and shook her head disapprovingly.
    "I think he's just like Miss Dorothy and the Reverend," said Alison audibly. McKay wondered what he could possibly have in common with both Miss Dorothy and the Reverend, apart from the highest respectability. The young chairwoman had a funny way of seeing things, beside a lot of spirit. He quite looked forward to the interview.
    "And he's a friend of Sully's, you've heard that," added Alison, again in a low voice. "What more can you want?"
    They stole a glance at the sergeant. He was watching them in patient wait, arms crossed and raised eyebrows. The more Alison looked at him, the more she was convinced she had already seen him somewhere. This was probably the same sergeant who had commanded the garrison and had handled the Indian problem and Sully's disappearance the year before. She had never met him face to face back then, yet she had heard of him as a strict but not unreasonable man. And from the calm, reassuring way he talked, and the sincere look of his grey-blue eyes, she felt he deserved some credit.
    "All right," Susan said. "Please, gentlemen, you have a seat too. We'll begin by reading from Proverbs, and then we'll sing a hymn together. Sergeant, you're excused from the hymn. Afterwards, gentlemen, if you feel like telling us some of the reasons that brought you to this point, we will listen with understanding."
    Alison had not suspected that Susan had so much power of persuasion. The two soldiers sat down primly. McKay shot an amused look at the older sister, and she was glad to see he had forgiven her blunder.
    
    Horace was beginning to close down his office. Last things to put in order, archives to close, then back home for a good night's sleep. He was content with that. He felt so much better now than when Myra had gone away, then come back, then gone again, taking Samantha with her. He was beginning to see things differently. He didn't know why. Not that he had done anything. But sometimes he felt he was even ready to start a new life.
    Which didn't mean that, every day at that precise moment of the evening, when the air tasted like distant places and the light turned to violet as it seeped low between the houses and reflected on the glass panes, he didn't always think with the same undying longing of his wife and his child.
    His thoughts were interrupted by a fast pace on the porch. "I hope you're not already closed, Horace."
    "Actually, Preston, I am."
    "You see, I have to send this telegram to Boston, and it's very urgent. I could pay a special price."
    Horace looked at the banker standing at the counter. "No special price. Give it to me."
    Preston held it back. "I'd like to be assured once again, Horace, that this office practices the most complete discretion about its clients. This time it's a very confidential matter."
    Horace glared at him. "I thought you knew me, Preston. Now, if you don't mind, I'm rather in a hurry." Not that he actually was, but he wanted to get rid of the banker as soon as possible. He made a sharp gesture with his extended hand.
    Reluctantly, Preston gave him the telegram. Horace read it, then sat at the telegraph. It was just an enquiry to somebody - a private address, he did not recognise it - about the recent dealings of some important Boston businessmen. After he had tapped the last letter he had already forgotten it.

    The following day, the church was fuller than usual. Alison and Susan had not expected much from their Saturday meeting with the two soldiers. And yet they had the surprise of seeing them walk in with their sergeant just before the Reverend took his place on the pulpit. The two women were sitting with another lady, and there was just an empty seat beside Alison. The two young men converged on it with great smiles, but McKay firmly conveyed them towards a bench on the other side and, after asking permission, sat down with the ladies himself. Alison felt an inordinate pleasure at this. She was proud of getting him too to Church. She was a little less proud of herself, when she realised she wasn't hearing a word of whatever the Reverend was saying.
    
    After Church, McKay was stopped by Sully, and the two started talking in low tones, Sully with arms crossed, McKay with hands behind his back, eyes thoughtfully down. Alison and Susan found themselves walking towards Grace's Café with Winters and Markham, who were chatting merrily away. The latter had linked his arm with the younger sister's. Alison was lending Corporal Winters a very distracted ear. She didn't like the way the situation was evolving. The day before the two soldiers had seemed pious enough, and they had behaved well in church. After all, McKay had been worried for them just for their general rebelliousness and tendency to get into brawls, not for anything more serious. But now she was beginning to suspect that they were in it not just for their souls. Susan seemed glad of it, which worried her sister no end. As for herself, she had no use whatsoever for her talkative corporal. He was nice, but far too young and happy-go-lucky for her. She could tolerate most men with ease and even be friendly, until they got too insistent. She didn't want to start loathing Winters' sight.
    "If you wish," he was saying, "I'll buy you lunch. I enjoyed our talk yesterday, an' I'd like to continue it."
    "Well," said Alison, uncertain as to how to dump him without a fuss, "I'll be glad to see you next Saturday at the League."
    "Next Saturday? I hoped that we could eat together sooner. Tomorrow, if not today."
    "Oh please, Allie," cut in Susan, "we can stop here to eat today, can't we?"
    "We've got a lot of work to do at the farm," Alison reminded her.
    "Oh, for God's sake," exclaimed Markham, "you have to eat, haven't you, ma'am? As well here as at your farm, eh?"
    Alison felt a wave of dislike for him. "No. We eat quickly at our farm. Here we meet a lot of people and we waste half a day's work. The League'll take up much of our time, and on Sundays we have to make up for for the time we spend in church. So now we have to go back to the farm immediately." She hadn't meant to be so pedantic, but she hated people who told her what to do without really knowing her.
    The young man smiled. He reminded her of Preston somewhat. "Don't tell me you spend all that time out there alone. You have to meet people. We'll see to it."
    "I don't think so," said Alison, beginning to steam. Markham was so assuming that even Winters looked uneasy. Socially the corporal seemed the weaker of the two, but he looked as though the right influence could do wonders on him. Why, oh why couldn't Susan be interested in him instead of the foppish Markham, why couldn't Winters court Susan, who at least was his age? Ignoring her, Markham gestured towards a table, and Susan seemed happy to follow his suggestion. Very well, thought Alison breathing deeply, if it's a scene you want, you'll -
    The sound of a woman's upset voice attracted their attention. It was Miss Dorothy. She was standing a little to the side of the meadow, and she had been talking with Cloud Dancing. Now two other men had joined them, and they seemed involved in a heated discussion.
    The two soldiers let go of the ladies and advanced on them. "What's the matter here?" said Corporal Winters belligerently.
    The men, a father and a son judging by their looks, were staring with hostility at an undaunted Cloud Dancing. "He's one of 'em," said the younger man. "It's his kind come destroyin' our property."
    "It's not true!" exclaimed Dorothy. She was holding her ground most proudly, but her voice shook with rage. "You got no proof of that!"
    "Don't need no proof," said the father. He turned to the soldiers. "Thank God you're here to defend us. Take this man an' put him where he belongs."
    "Not likely," said Winters, doing a close McKay imitation. "More likely I'll put you where you belong, for disturbin' the peace!"
    Dorothy looked at him in astonishment. Even Cloud Dancing seemed put off by the Army's attitude. She  exchanged a look with him, then saw Sergeant McKay himself advancing on them. Now comes the difficult part, thought Dorothy. The last time she'd seen the man, he was standing behind Major Morrison and advocating the use of handcuffs on Black Moon. Yet Cloud Dancing had told her he had risked his career and his life to prevent Morrison from betraying the Indians. Now she looked forward to the development of the situation.
    "Glad you're here, Sergeant," said the father. "Your men gettin' outta control."
    "Mr. Deakin," said McKay. "Any problems?"
    "There's gonna be another attack on our homes. We saw people spyin' on us, heard strange noises. My nephew's up there, ready to defend himself. I wanna get some help. An' I don't wanna see this garbage 'round town!" He pointed to Cloud Dancing.
    "Mind your language, first of all," McKay answered dourly, pointing at him. The man stared. Sully had appeared at McKay's side. Dorothy was more and more surprised. Sheriff Simon had approached too, yet he seemed to remain in the wings, waiting.
    "It was no Indians burned Chilton's farm," went on the sergeant. "Rather white men like you an' me. We're gonna find 'em."
    Deakin was still looking askance at Cloud Dancing. "I'll believe it when I see it."
    McKay and Sully started replying together. They stopped, surprised, and Sully drew back with a nod at the sergeant. As he listened to McKay by his side, counselling caution and forbidding any other act of intolerance against Indians, he almost smiled at the irony of the situation. Only six months before, hiding from the Army and cursing them inwardly for keeping him away from his loved ones, he would never have imagined such a turn.
    People had gathered around them. Hank traded a sarcastic look with Loren. "Seems we acquired 'nother Injun lover," he said, throwing a glance at Michaela to make sure she had heard him.
    "My people will protect the Windy Creek farms an' mission," concluded McKay, hands open in a placating gesture. He was the kind who used all he had to persuade, thought Alison who was watching him attentively, and he was pulling it off. "If they manage to catch some of the raiders we could discover where they come from an' who sent 'em."
    "Will that be enough?" said the younger Deakin. "Ain't it better all of ya go up there to check on 'em?"
    "We will, if necessary. Right now I'd rather keep some men close to town, until I'm sure they are limitin' their attacks to Windy Creek. Now go home. I already sent a squad up there. You'll be safe."
    They watched the two miners turn and leave grumbling, with one last spiteful glance at Cloud Dancing. Dorothy let out a sigh.
    Sully's jaw tightened. "Been a long time since the town was under the menace of raiders. I don't want those times to come back."
    "Neither do I," answered McKay, looking straight at him. "I'll do all I can to avoid it, I swear." He turned to his two men. "Let's go."
    "Sergeant," piped up Susan, "we were just planning to eat all together."
    Alison glowered at her. McKay seemed in doubt. "Were you? Well, anyway they ain’t free. I brought them along so you could check they behaved well, but now I need 'em at the camp. They'll have some time off duty soon," he added gently.
    "Thank you, sir," said Susan happily. Alison growled inside.
    As the people dispersed, discussing the events that had just taken place, Susan watched the three soldiers leave. "Why must you always be such a spoilsport, Allie?"
    "I wasn't. They were not meant to stay here. You heard what McKay said."
    "I saw you gettin' grumpy as usual. Corporal Winters is a nice young man."
    "He's not my kind. An’ neither is Markham yours."
    Susan sighed. "Allie," she said, not without affection, "nobody's our kind. When will you understand this? I'm twenty-five, an’ you're thirty-two. D’you want your kind or d’you want to be like everybody else?" She gestured at the couples that were again enjoying the bright morning after the distasteful moment with the Windy Creek miners. "Besides," added Susan, "I like Private Markham. He got style. An’ Corporal Winters looks handsome enough."
    "I'd rather have lunch with McKay himself," said Alison.
    Susan puffed. "Don't talk like that, Allie. He's not an ill-lookin’ man either."
    The girl was so used to her sister's sarcastic remarks about men that she didn't realise this time she had not meant it as a joke. Alison did not offer any clarifications.

    Another Sunday evening came. Sully and McKay had spent the previous week surveying the mountains around Windy Creek; now they were standing before the Deakins' farm, making their report to the miners.
    "We found nothin'," said McKay. "They don't have a base 'round here. They come from outside. This should make it easier to catch 'em."
    "Yes," mused Sully. He was staring towards the opening of the narrow vale towards the mountains. "Unless they know the territory better than me." He opened a map he had sketched on. "These are the places I'd guard. The problem is, they could be lookin' at us this very moment."
    McKay gazed around at the small patch of lawn. It was open to the South and the West, which made it almost healthy to farm and live in. The other two sides were the craggy, intricated mountains that held the precious mines. From where he stood he could hear the wind whistling loudly through the cracks and small canyons and the dry torrent bed. There in the valley the last of the sun was still warming the air, but among the rocks the temperature dropped sharply. Sully had never let them roam the mountains after sunset, making them return every time to Colorado Springs or to the settlement, even though it was June. After dark, in winter, the winds that gave Windy Creek its name could kill a man.
    There were soldiers scattered all along the perimeter that enclosed the two farms and the small mission, watching the reddish rocks. A sad patch of burned rubble marked the place where the third farm had stood.
    "Gonna keep livin' in the mission, Mr. Tanner?" asked McKay of a large man standing near Mr. Deakin with a gun.
    "So we are," nodded the man. With him was his wife, a small dirty woman, and their small dirty child. "Until we build our home again."
    "Till then we're going to defend them," said Brother William, one of the four Franciscan monks that ran the mission. He was standing with a gun in his hand, menacing despite his bespectacled scholar's looks. "And beyond that, if necessary."
    McKay looked at him in surprise. "You gonna use that?"
    "Sure."
    "Thought your rule forbade it."
    The monk looked calmly at him. "I'm ready to risk my life - my soul, actually, so that these good people can go on living as they have a right to."
    "We all are," agreed the other three monks. As the shadows were falling, everybody was beginning to gather outside, arms in hand. 
    "How come you founded a mission up here?" asked Sully folding his map, curious of those warlike friars.
    "At the beginning of the century, a Spanish settler got lost in these mountains in winter," explained Brother William. "He was surprised by a blizzard, and survived. He had the small chapel built as a token of thank to God. Some years later some mad abbot came here..."
    "You're talking about our revered First Abbot," said piously one of the younger friars, armed with two guns in his belt.
    "Himself. He liked the quiet of the place and had the mission built. It's a sort of haven for desperate cases, you see. We all come from monasteries that didn't exactly urge us to stay... but we like it here."
    "Very close to Perfect Happiness," quoted another monk.
    Sully smiled. In their calm there was something of Cloud Dancing.
    "We all gotta thank 'em," said Mr. Deakin. "They sure helped us 'fore the Army did."
    McKay turned to look at him. "Now we're here, Mr. Deakin. I set up camp just beyond the range. If necessary I'll send more men from Colorado Springs."
    "Ya ain't stoppin' 'em. More men won't mean nothin'. Ya could stay here forever."
    "At Denver Headquarters they're well aware these mountains are dangerous. First the Indians," - a look of regret passed on his face, but it was not the time to expand on the topic - "now the raids on the mines. I received a message from my commandin' officers. They're considerin' to have a fort built close to here. From there we'll be able to defend you much better."
    Sully had lifted his head. "A fort? Where?"
    McKay seemed caught out. "I think the place's called Skunk's Tail. Some are jokin' they'll call it Fort Skunk, but Command's more inclined towards Fort Lafayette."
    Sully was far from pleased. He made a mental note to press McKay for more information as soon as they were out of earshot of the miners. The fact that he had come to trust and respect the sergeant did not mean he was happy at having a permanent Army settlement so close to home.
    "It's not decided yet," added McKay under his breath. "It may be that you'll be able to say somethin' - "
    A shot rang out from the narrowing of the valley.
    Almost simultaneously a soldier screamed a warning. Everybody started looking around. "Take cover!" shouted Sully. He threw himself and Mr. Tanner's wife and child behind a watering trough, watching that the others did the same. McKay dived behind a boulder, the monks took refuge inside a trench the soldiers had hastily dug that morning. Everybody started shooting.
    There were at least half a dozen men up among the rocks. Sully saw someone wearing an Indian headdress.
    "There they are!" shouted the younger Deakin.
    "Wouldn't fool anybody," answered Sully, furious. Except, that is, a bunch of exasperated miners ready to blame it on someone.
    The baby began wailing, frightened by the noise. Sully had not expected such a volume of fire. He started worrying about the rocks. Windy Creek was known for its landslides, due to the constant erosion of the canyons' walls by the cold dry wind. Should some of the largest boulders up there start moving, they could easily crush the farms below.
    There was nothing to be done about that right now. The men in the rocks went on shooting. McKay pointed to a shadowed nook in a stone wall. "Two or three of 'em are there," he shouted to one of his men. "See if you can get around. I'll cover you."
    The soldier started running across the field and reached a pile of cordwood. From there he went on shooting towards the nook. They saw a man fall down from there. A shot struck close to the soldier, chipping away at the wood. He took cover. He was about to answer fire, when a double shot from another direction threw him to the ground.
    McKay swore. Just as he unloaded his gun on the nook, one of the friars fell too. The young one with two guns. The sergeant struggled to reload. "Stay hidden, dammit! Don't offer 'em a target. Try to - " A shot hit his boulder in a small explosion of sparks.
    "They're going away," said Sully. He looked cautiously out of his cover, one hand on the shoulder of the unhappy woman. The soldiers loosened some more shots, then the silence fell again on Windy Creek, chasing away the echoes.
    Sully rose and ran to the young monk. It took just a glance. "He's dead," he whispered. Brother William crossed himself, anguished.
    Sully turned. McKay was standing behind him, his eyes on the soldier behind the cordwood, laying motionless in a pool of blood.
    "They wanted to show us they ain't afraid of the Army," said Sully bitterly.
    McKay was silent. He lowered his eyes on the monk, huddled on his side, still clutching his guns. "They will be," he said in a breath, looking at Sully from under his eyebrows.

    On Monday, after doing her share of chores, Alison put Susan to paint the new milking stool, then unhitched her horse from the wagon and sped to the Army camp.
    The two soldiers had come to church the day before, but not McKay. Alison was not happy about it. The young men seemed to have the day off, and she had endured lunch at Grace's with them. Susan was really glowing, while she couldn't really understand what kind of pull a loud and inane man like Markham could have on her bright and resourceful sister. As for Corporal Winters, he was beginning to understand that Alison was not interested in him. He had just sat there, trying to be philosophic and looking mostly miserable. She felt bad for him. She wished he would stop coming, but clearly Markham had to drag him along for appearances. This thing had to end. What a mistake it had been.
    She reached the camp at sunset, when the soldiers were beginning to gather round the tables to eat. She dismounted and left her horse to a private, hoping to avoid Markham, aware of looking very conspicuous among all those men. She asked for directions from an old corporal and was pointed to a tent raised a little apart from the others.
    McKay was sitting at his table just outside his tent, writing orders. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure of a woman approaching. For a moment, before he lifted his head, he thought it was Michaela Quinn, coming to talk to him like those days the year before, when she had needed help for Sully. For that barest, fleeting moment he was jolted back to the concern and admiration he had felt for the brave and beautiful woman doctor, the deep tenderness for her strange mix of strength and vulnerability. She was probably the one who had first cracked his rigid inner system of rules and regulations, giving him the inspiration to side with the Indians and work for Sully's and Cloud Dancing's pardon. He would have done anything for her then, even give her back her husband. All the side effects of that December treaty had been long and painful to heal for him.
    But right now it wasn't her. It was the young "Ladies for Temperance" chairwoman, and she looked nothing like Dr. Quinn. With her strong face, dark shining eyes and braid, and a dusky colouring gained from working in the open, Alison Lowell looked like an Indian girl. She was tall for a woman and very slim, though shapely. "Evenin', Miss Lowell," he greeted her, rising from his chair at once. "How can I help you?"
    "Sergeant McKay," she answered. "Why weren't you in church yesterday?"
    His expression hardened. "Wish I'd been there," he said briefly.
    Alison was quick enough to understand that there were things he was not allowed to discuss. She noticed he had been writing with his gloves on, as if he had just come back from some mission. She shook her head. "Well, this is not the main reason I'm here." She sat down opposite him, and he did the same.
    McKay watched her with a more relaxed look, leaning back in his chair. He seemed very tired. Did he ever shave? wondered Alison. Yet there was a method in his scruffiness. Most of the time he looked like he had a slight moustache, never pronounced enough, as if he couldn't make up his mind about it. She checked herself. You can't spend all the evening staring at him, she thought. Or rather you could, but it wouldn't be proper. "I'd like you not to bring your soldiers to the League or to church again."
    He frowned slightly. "Why? Did they misbehave?"
    "No, not at all. Yet..." She tried to be brief, but she felt uneasy. "Private Markham's been courting my sister. You see, when our parents died ten years ago I took care of her, and I have the responsibility of judging the people she meets." McKay still looked concerned, so she added, "He's behaving like a gentleman, mind you. It's just that I don't feel he is the right man for her."
    "Cause he's a soldier," said the sergeant softly.
    "Yes," answered Alison without thinking. Something untraceable passed behind McKay's clear eyes, and she felt she had made a mistake. "No. I mean, that's only part of the problem. The truth is, I don't like him. I know it's unfair to Susan, I'm not the one who should like him or not. But I am responsible for her, and I'm ready to risk her anger."
    McKay nodded slowly, lowering his eyes to the table. When he looked at her again, that mysterious flicker in his gaze had disappeared. "I'll do what you ask of me," he said sternly. "Sorry to have caused you displeasure."
    "Frankly, Sergeant," she said lightly, "were you so oblivious to the fact that it could happen? Could you deny hoping one of your men would find a soul mate?"
    Her smile seemed to draw another one from him. "When Sully told me two ladies were gonna open a Temperance League, you see, I pictured my Ma's unmarried sisters. No temptation for young soldiers, I can assure you." His amusement accentuated that faintest hint of a Southern drawl in his speech. "When I saw you, both of you, well... I had some doubts," he admitted. "However I got much trust in those two young men. Winters is a good lad, and Markham's always behaved very well. Bit of a rattle at times, I agree with you on that." The smile widened for a moment, then vanished. "My main concern was to put them on a good path. Anything else, I thought could be resolved with common sense. I thought he was able to take no for an answer."
    Alison looked down. "Problem is my sister likes him."
    McKay tilted his head. "Miss Lowell, you sure you're doin' the right thing?"
    As he looked at her she seemed to draw back within herself. She lifted her face with a "Yes" that made the sergeant pray he would never find himself on the receiving end of that unexplained loathing.
    "All right," he sighed. "I'll keep 'em busy. Even more than I'd want to."
    Her mission accomplished, Alison was ready to get up and go, but the sergeant's words stopped her. "What do you mean?" she asked instinctively.
    McKay looked at her, doubtful, then leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table, eyes shadowed under the hat. He placed his chin on his folded hands, pressing his lips on the knuckles. He seemed to remember that he still wore his gloves and took them off, and the hat with them, laying them on the table. He had the hands of an officer, smooth and sensitive, lightly covered with blond hairs. His eyebrows and sideburns too were fairer that the hair on his head. "I've been with Sully at Windy Creek," he said finally. "We're preparin' a defence plan."
    Alison looked at him with concern in her eyes. That warmed him somehow, though he hated to be a cause of uneasiness for her.
    "Is it very dangerous?" she said.
    "It could be."
    "Your sweetheart will be worried." Now what on earth had prompted her to say that, she wondered.
    McKay shook his head. "No sweetheart either."
    "Odd," she replied. Heavens, she had to get away from there. With every word she was becoming sillier and sillier. She gathered her pouch in her lap.
    "Why odd?" asked McKay, truly surprised.
     Now find a plausible answer, lady. "I know you by fame. Dr. Quinn and Sully think well of you, and so does Sheriff Simon. You're a dependable man. You did a lot of good around here last year." She managed to keep the rest for herself.
    He shook his head sadly. "I'm a soldier. No prize for a woman."
    The lady looked ready to go away. "How about you?" added McKay hastily. "Did I take somebody else's place in church last Sunday?"
    Astonished, Alison tried to weigh just how rude that question was. No ruder than her inquiry. "No," she said. She met his eyes, noticing with a small jolt he was doing his share of staring, as he lifted his gaze from her throat. She was on the verge of adding something, then she got up. "Time to go."
    The air was in fact becoming darker. Already McKay was no more able to distinguish the reddish flecks in her hair and eyes. He rose from his chair too, reluctant to part with her. His men were eating, but it was not proper to invite her to stay for dinner. "May I accompany you for a while? Until you're in sight of your farm."
    Alison smiled. "Yes, thank you."
    McKay nodded matter-of-factly. "O'Malley!" he called. "Fetch me a horse. My own's exhausted," he added, turning again to Alison and recovering gloves and hat.
    As the old corporal led towards them a brisk young grey, Alison noticed a movement. On a square wooden stool by the flap of the tent, something had raised its head. A small furry black cat, who had been so fast asleep and curled up that she had mistaken it for some sort of rag. Now it looked at the sergeant with wide alert eyes and forward-pointing ears.
    McKay gave it a warning look. The cat put down its head again and resumed its slumber.
    "How cute," attempted Alison, unsure of the correct compliment to pay to the rugged owner of such an incongrous creature.
    McKay didn't even bat an eye. "Army kitten," he said. "Standard equipment." He took the grey's reins and gestured her gallantly towards her own horse.
    
    "What do you mean, no news?" whispered Preston angrily. "I heard there have been dead people up there."
    "Accidents happen." The stranger was sitting on one of the bank's best armchairs and was lighting a very bad cigar. Even Hank's were less nauseating, thought Preston. "The miners could be ready to sell. If they thought it was a joke, now they don't anymore. Yet now everybody gotta reckon with the Army. Seems they're gonna go up in forces an' fortify the place."
    Preston did not care about the Army. All he cared about were information. Information were the only thing he wanted to be caught with if something went wrong. Not a possible accusation of being an accomplice in murder. From the beginning the operative word had been "persuasion". And he was not the one who had used it. All he knew was that people up at Windy Creek could soon start selling their land and that somebody was giving them a push in the right direction. Nobody had ever talked about killing them.
    He stared at the lantern on the desk, careful to hide his thoughts from the stranger. He had known the deal was dangerous, given the quality of the other party. He thought he knew what could happen if he started backing off.
    He smiled. "You've kept me well informed, as usual," he said, handing him the payment. "I trust next time you'll have some facts for me."
    The man rose heavily from the armchair. Preston knitted his eyebrows together. "Are you wounded?" he said.
    "It's nothin'." The man took the money and went out quickly.
    Preston went to the armchair with his lantern. Great. Now he had to have it cleaned. Nervously, he aired the room.

    Alison was facing the prospect of being in love with Sergeant Terence McKay.
    As she walked the main road that lay across Colorado Springs, careful of the ankle she had sprained the day before, she told herself she had received no real signals from him, so it was premature to entertain such feelings. Yet, since that very first day at the League, she had reserved a place deep in her heart for him, and now it glowed with a warmth she thought she had never felt. He might look and talk like a rough soldier, but the surface was easy to scratch. His gentleness touched her soul, as much as his looks appealed to her senses. It was so good to relax into thoughts of him, of the few times they had met, until he had taken leave from her on Monday, at the bend of the road in front of her farm already lit up for the night. He had raised his fingers to the brim of his hat, his face invisible in the dusk; however she could picture one of his rare tight-lipped cheek-creasing smiles. She had been so pleasantly flustered that she had cheerfully put up with Susan's outburst at the lateness of the hour.
    She had justified herself by saying she wanted to scold McKay for skipping church. Besides some colourful details, she had told very little of the meeting to Susan, who, being the good-natured girl she was, now walked merrily at her side, anger already forgotten. That did bother Alison. Besides being unable to open her heart to her, she had acted behind her back to part her from Private Markham. She knew it was for her sister's good, but it was hard nonetheless. She hoped the thing would solve itself - Susan forgetting the private, or the Army leaving again - this, though, would have broken her heart.
    They entered the store. Loren was giving Cloud Dancing his share of the profits of the Indian merchandise he sold. The former was very reluctant to part with any of his money; the latter stood quietly and solidly with hand outstretched. Near the counter, Hank was sampling some of the newly-arrived cigars, rolling them close to his ear and critically sniffing them.
    "Mr. Bray, Cloud Dancing, Mr. Lawson," Alison greeted them all brightly, even Hank.
    "Mornin', Miss Lowell," Loren answered cordially. "You're a bit early for your weekly provisions."
    "It's such a beautiful day. I'm seizing the opportunity ‘fore it rains again. Besides, I have to see Dr. Quinn, no big deal, though."
    "Aren't we in high spirits today," drawled Hank with a lazy smile.
    "Yes," answered Alison and Susan together. Then they exchanged a brief suspicious look.
    Susan began to gather from the shelves the everyday things they needed. Candles, soap, canned meat. Meanwhile Alison approached the counter.
    "Mr. Bray," she said like a conspirator, "I need a cushion."
    "A cushion, Miss Lowell? For a bed?"
    "No. For - a chair, or a stool."
    "Fancy," said Hank. Alison raised an eyebrow at him.
    "I don't have a whole cushion, yet I got the material for it," Loren was saying. "How about white linen?"
    "Oh no, not white. What else have you got?"
    "Let's see... Some red muslin remnants at a very good price. Otherwise here's some cotton. Checked, or blue, or green."
    "May I see the blue one?" It was a very fitting dark blue, yet it seemed too contrived. From the remnants she fished out a nice yellow rectangular piece of material, but then she thought that black fur would stand out too much on it.
    "Excuse me," said Cloud Dancing. "If it may be useful to you, I have this leather pouch. You could stuff it, then sew up the open side."
    Alison weighed in her hand the square fringed pouch. Leather was easy to brush, too. Yet it felt a bit cold. "Would an animal sleep well on it?" she asked Cloud Dancing.
    The Cheyenne smiled. "Usually, animals sleep very well in it."
    Susan deposited on the counter a wooden crate full of items. "It's for an Army kitten," she said impishly. Alison glared at her.
    "A what?" gaped Loren.
    Hank smirked.
    "It will be good for its nails, then," added Cloud Dancing. "This is very strong leather."
    "All right," said Alison briefly, "I'll take it. I need the stuffing too."
    Loren dismissed the mystery with a shrug. "I got some wool. And horse hair," he added reluctantly. "Cheaper."
    Alison thought about it. "I'll take the horse hair," she sighed.
    
    When they got out in the sun, Alison shot Susan a fiery glance.
    The younger sister smiled. "What about it, Allie? I'm the only one who knows you're still tryin' to save Sgt. McKay's soul."
    Alison was drawn to smile too. She did not believe anymore his soul needed saving. "Will you please take the provisions to the wagon, Sue? I'll drop in at the doctor's. You can find me there."
    Susan walked away with the crate. Alison crossed the street and mounted on the porch of the clinic, walking up to ring the bell.
    "Come in," said Michaela. She was sitting at her desk with a pen lifted in the air, as though she had been leaning her cheek on her hand. She looked distracted.
    "Sorry, Dr. Mike," said Alison. "If you got other things to do I'll..."
    "No, please, Miss Lowell," she said, smiling. "What can I do for you?"
    "I sprained my ankle running after the cattle. I can walk on it, but it's swollen."
    "Let's see." Michaela made her sit on the examination table. Alison took off the left shoe, and the doctor carefully took her stockinged lower leg in her hands, rotating the foot gingerly. When she pushed it upwards Alison flinched.
    "Does it hurt here?"
    "A little."
    "I have to push it a bit more to see if there's damage. It may be painful."
    "Go ahead," said Alison, and tightened her jaws. Michaela moved the foot, but the pain did not increase.
    "How's that?"
    "Pretty much the same."
    "Well!" smiled Michaela. "It's just an inflamed nerve, Miss Lowell. Let it rest."
    Alison sighed.
    "As much as you can," added Michaela, aware that the young woman ran her farm alone with her sister and a couple of paid helpers. She gave her a roll of bandages. "At least keep it bound up tight and don't ride for a week."
    "Thank you, Dr. Mike." Alison paid her, then stopped before going away. "You sure everything's all right?"
    Michaela was about to sit at her desk. She looked at Alison, a small crease between her fine eyebrows. "Are you acquainted with the situation at Windy Creek?"
    Alison nodded. "Sgt. McKay told me."
    Michaela looked slightly surprised, then smiled. "Sully is working with him, did he tell you that?"
    "I gathered as much. Sully knows what he's doing, Dr. Mike." She was telling Michaela the same things she kept telling herself. "I'm sorry that every time the Army comes to Colorado Springs things get difficult for him, but everything will be fine."
    "It's not McKay's fault. It never was. It's about what Sully is, what he does. And I'm glad that this time they are both on the same side."
    Alison nodded and turned for the door. Michaela accompanied her, with a hand on her shoulder.
    
    When Alison went outside she saw Susan down the road, talking to Corporal Winters.
    She swore under her breath, which was not a ladylike thing to do, but the situation called for it. With a heavy pace, remembering suddenly her aching ankle, she joined them.
    Winters looked sullen. Susan turned on Alison with a savage look. "How did you dare? How could you do that to me?"
    "I tried to talk to you, Susan, but you wouldn't listen..."
    "Small wonder! Don't you think I have the right to live my own life an' make my own choices? McKay's soul, indeed! You went there to convince him not to let 'em out anymore!"
    Alison turned helplessly to Winters. The surly young corporal offered no mercy. "Sergeant changed Markham's time off to mid-afternoon an' late evening, when it's very rare to meet you in Colorado Springs. Oh yes, we could come visitin' to your farm. But you see, we know when we're not wanted."
    "No!" cried Susan in despair. "Please..." She grabbed Winters' arm, then let it go brusquely and looked at Alison. "Good job, sister. Really makes sense. We put up the League, then turn down our first guests an' cancel 'em from our lives. Well, from now on you can run the League alone. I want no more of it!" She turned and ran towards the wagon.
    "It's not as it seems," pleaded Alison with Winters. "I got nothing personal against you, both of you. You must understand..."
    "All I understand is you don't care much 'bout lower ranks," blurted out the corporal. He noticed Alison's appalled look. "Sorry," he said quickly, then saluted and strode off in the opposite direction.
     From the entrance of the store, Hank had followed the whole scene. He nudged Loren, who was watching with interest. "There go the Army kittens," he said, nodding towards Alison who caught up wobbling with Susan and jumped onto the wagon with her in an icy silence.

End of Part I