Friday evening. Usually it was the moment when Preston stayed late at the bank to put everything in order. This time he was staying late because the obnoxious informer wouldn't disappear into the murky den whence he came from.
    "I'm sorry, but our deal is nil from now."
    "What d'ya mean, mister?" said the man. "Our deal's alive and kicking."
    "Let's try to go over what has been happening lately," said Preston, bearing down hard on his impatience. "You come and tell me you can keep me informed on the situation at Windy Creek, in which you know I am interested. I pay you, two, three times a week. All you can tell me is that the miners are ready to sell. But not now. Because of Sully, or of the Army, or of the way the wind is turning. You understand that I cannot go on much longer than this. I'm losing out. I'll pay you for tonight's inconvenience, and then we may go our separate ways."
    "Reckon ya makin' a mistake," said the man. "This time's really the right time."
    "Like last time. So please, accept my payment and be gone."
    "Thought the deal had 'nother side. A premium for me when ya get the Windy Creek concession. Now ya say ya wanna back off. No premium for me, then. Ya see, mister, I'm losin' out here."
    "Points of view," smiled Preston. "You could lose out anyway, if I don't get the concession. So I'd advise you to be content with what you have had already."
    "Ya a fool if ya back off now!" cried the stranger. "Windy Creek's gonna be deserted by tomorrow evenin'. When a landslide buries the damn mission, the miners gonna have nobody to run cryin' to no more!"
    Preston's growing distaste turned suddenly into a sick feeling. He saw in the narrowing of the man's eyes that somebody had spoken one word too many. He kept his own eyes carefully blank as he worked up a smile. "Well, why didn't you say so before? Now that's talking." He slid towards his desk, trying not to be too obvious as he avoided turning his back to him. He'd not had any intention of paying him, so he had to open the drawer. Inside were some dollar bills and a gun. He almost went for the gun, then thought he did not have many chances. He took the money without bothering to count it, which galled him.
    "Here," he said pleasantly to the man. "I have enjoyed working with you. Drop by after the deal is concluded, to collect your premium."
    The man took the money, without leaving Preston's eyes. He backed off and went out in silence.
    Preston let out his breath. You idiot. You should have killed me at once. He sat down at his desk, so that in case the man looked in again he would have seen a very normal picture, and also because his knees were shaking and his superior brain felt somewhat cluttered. He waited a couple of minutes, watching the door. If the man was really stupid, he could come back. At last the banker got up and with the utmost calm he drew the curtains close. Then he took the gun, slipping it into his belt under his jacket, put off the lantern and got out.
    The road looked empty and still fairly lit by the neighbouring houses. At least he saw the brilliant light of the sheriff's office in front of the bank. Daniel Simon was in. Preston just had to cross the street to reach it, but he felt exposed. He stretched, breathing in the cool evening air, thinking. Then he set off at a leisurely pace towards Jake's barber shop, darting his eyes everywhere. Maybe he was being overly suspicious. He did not remember there were so many dark zones between the houses.
    Preston heard a movement behind him. He did not turn, and put his hand on the gun. Again that noise. Someone was following him. He walked some more paces, then suddenly dived to the side into the dark alley between the buildings. He tripped and scrambled forward, throwing himself behind a barrel and drawing his gun. He saw the figure of his treacherous informer silhouetted between the dark walls of the alley. He saw he was armed.
    "Stop or I'll shoot!" he screamed, gun held between both hands. The man did not pause and aimed in his direction. Preston fired, missing. The man flattened himself against the wall.
    
    At the shot, Daniel had jumped from his desk. He took his rifle and darted out, leaving a couple of drunks in the cell. "What's the matter?" he cried as soon as he was outside. He saw a man running out of the alley, gun in hand. "Stop!" he shouted, dropping on one knee. The man turned and fired at him, breaking a glass pane behind him. Screams across the street. The sheriff returned fire. The man fell sprawling in the middle of the road.
    People were beginning to come out. "What's happening?" "My God, that man's dead!" "Stay inside, it's dangerous!"
    Daniel rose slowly, shaking away shards of glass from his shoulders. He went to the man lying in the dust. Jake appeared at his side with a lantern. Daniel knelt and checked that the man was indeed dead.
    "Nice shot, Sheriff," said Hank.
    Daniel did not answer. He was no trigger-happy man. "Who's that?" he asked the townspeople gathering around him.
    Among all those who shook their heads, Preston pushed through and looked down at the sheriff, theatrically putting his gun back in his belt. "He's one of the Windy Creek raiders," he said aloud.
    Michaela and Matthew had appeared in the crowd. "How do you know, Preston?" she said.
    "I'd like to talk to Sheriff Simon alone."
    Daniel got up and waved around. "Everybody go home, it's all over," he called.
    Jake turned to Robert E. "Gimme a hand to take him away."
    The sheriff nodded Preston towards his office. Michaela and Matthew followed them.
    "I said alone," pointed out the banker as soon as they were inside.
    "Sully's up there with the garrison," answered Michaela firmly. "I have a right to know. How did you learn he was one of them?"
    "I heard him whispering to another bandit."
    "And where's this other bandit now?" asked Daniel.
    "He rode away. When the first one saw me he tried to shoot me. But I'm hard to kill."
    They were looking at him, puzzled. "What were they talking about?" asked Matthew.
    Jake and Robert E came inside. "So what's the deal?" asked the mayor.
    Preston was annoyed at the crowd, but rose to the occasion. "I heard them saying that tomorrow they're planning to cause a landslide and bury the Windy Creek mission."
    Michaela placed a hand on her mouth, eyes widening.
    "We gotta warn 'em," said Matthew, looking at her.
    "I'm goin' with you," added Robert E.
    "Just a moment," said Daniel. "How do we know all this is true?"
    "Are you implying I'm a liar, Sheriff?" said Preston, wrinkling his upper lip.
    "I'm just wonderin' what you coulda heard from two bandits whisperin', an' why on earth they were whisperin' 'bout landslides in the middle of Colorado Springs..."
    "It does make sense, Daniel," said Michaela eagerly. "Sully told me that the place is subject to landslides. He was very worried about it, with all the shooting. And I know that the miners have been relying heavily on the friars' moral support."
    The sheriff saw her point. "All right, Michaela. Go warn Sully. I'd like to come with you, but..." He nodded towards the two drunks, huddled unhappily on the floor of the cell.
    "Don't worry, Daniel. We'll take care of ourselves." Michaela went out quickly, followed by Matthew and Robert E.
    Jake looked at them. "Those damn raiders are gettin' closer to town. Keep your eyes open, Sheriff." He stormed out, carrying his lantern.
    Preston was about to follow. Daniel stopped him. "I still think there's somethin' strange," he said, looking askance at the banker.
    "What do you mean?"
    "Two raiders in town, talkin' about their plans. An' you bein' the one to overhear 'em."
    "So what?"
    "I don't know, Mr. Lodge," said Daniel, lifting his chin, "but it seems to me you're an interested party in the matter. You declared in many occasions you'd do anythin’ to get your Chateau back."
    Preston looked at him, eyelids lowered. "I'm tired, Sheriff. We all are. We're saying things that we don't mean. Goodnight." He turned and left the office.
    Daniel watched him go. He didn't care about him right now. He was worried about Sully, about Michaela and the others, even about that sergeant, a straight-talking fellow he'd have liked to call his friend. But one thing was certain: Preston was in it up to the tip of his Boston-styled hat.
    
    Alison was dusting the cupboard, worried. The table was already set and Susan was late for dinner. She had said she'd drop by in town to get some candles, because she wanted to stay up reading. Now Alison was beginning to suspect Susan's sincerity. She heard again Winters' words. Changed Markham's hours off to mid-afternoon and late evening... The little fool! Alison felt a rush of rage, then guilt. She had been trying to snatch every opportunity to meet McKay. In what way was she different from Susan?
    The sudden frantic thump of hooves outside prevented her from giving herself an answer. In a moment Susan rushed through the door, breathless. "Alison, they're goin’ up to Windy Creek!"
    "Who's goin’? Susan! Calm down!"
    The younger sister took a deep breath. "Preston discovered the raiders are gonna set a trap for Sully an' the Army. They wanna blow up the mountain. Dr. Mike's goin' up there. Allie, if we start at once we can catch up with ‘em. Please, Allie..."
    Alison was staring at her, astonished, scared, unbelieving. "But we can't, Sue! How would we be of any use?"
    "I can shoot, an’ so can you!"
    "Sue, we know how to make noise with our old blunderbuss, not how to fight!"
    "Marjorie would have gone. Dr. Mike did go. Her husband's up there!"
    "Susan!" Alison grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. "It's her husband, not ours. Listen -" She bit her lip, feeling torn. "I'm worried too, for Sully. An’ the soldiers. But we can do nothin’. We'd risk our life needlessly. Please, Sue. Listen to me."
    Her sister's eyes filled with tears. "Dr. Mike an’ the others will warn them, Sue," Alison went on passionately. "They’ll be safe." Her voice caught. "I'd want to go up there as much as you do. But I won't. Better to stay here and wait for them. It's not because I don't care that I say this." She took Susan's face in her hands. "Do you believe me?"
    Susan watched her, mesmerised. She nodded slowly, blinking away the tears.
    "All right," said Alison. She kissed her cheek and smiled. "Now let's eat and have a good night's rest, and tomorrow we will see what we can do." She led her towards the lighted table, trying to hide her own agony. She had just said the words she herself would have wanted to hear.

    McKay was sleeping in the barn of Deakin's farm, wrapped up in his greatcoat. Even within walls, kept warm by the straw, and in one of the most sheltered zones of the canyon, it was hellishly cold. It was cold in his dream too, a contradictory dream like many that haunted him lately. From the very beginning his instinct towards Miss Lowell had been very clear. He had acted on it at once, leaning on all the experience of his Army training, with preparatory moves and a careful reconnoitring of the terrain, which had helped him to assess his position and define his objective. He had been helped by luck, of course, and the first results were satisfactory. All this should have reassured him about the fact that he was conducting his campaign in the best strategic way. And yet... his dream was full of anxiety, insecurity and loneliness, though touched by the deepest of sweet yearnings and a reckless, childlike joy he had not known for a long time.
    He felt he had barely closed his eyes, when suddenly he was being roughly shaken by someone. "Wake up," said Sully, and then jumped to his feet.
    By the light of a lantern Michaela was already inside the barn, grabbing Sully's shoulders. "Are you all right?"
    "Yes!" exclaimed Sully. "Whatcha doin' here?"
    McKay got up, noticing Matthew and Robert E behind Dr. Quinn. "What's happenin'?"
    "The raiders are going to cause a landslide tomorrow, to bury the mission," she explained.
    "How d'you know?" asked McKay.
    "Long story, I’ll just hint it involves Preston," said Robert E.
    McKay exchanged a look with Sully. "What time is it?"
    "Just before dawn."
    "Then it is tomorrow. We gotta find them at once. Sully, where would you go if you wanted to blow up a piece of the mountain?"
    Sully stared at him. "Why d'you ask me?" he said dryly.
    
    Alison woke up in a sweat. She had slept badly, managing to close her eyes well after midnight, glad to be under the heavy covers in the still chilly air. Now the room was very warm, and the sun barely peeking from the shutters did not justify it. She turned toward the small fireplace. Fresh logs had been put on the fire some hours before. She looked at Susan's bed and found it empty.
    This was not unusual. Her restless little sister hated loitering lazily in bed, while for Alison it was a very rare and delicious treat. She tarried some moments more with her hands behind her head, wondering how it felt to sleep in the wilderness under a blanket. Probably McKay too appreciated a good night's sleep in a regular bed, whenever he had the occasion. The rather thrilling thoughts of McKay plus bed were very soon joined by the awareness of the risks he was taking, and she just couldn't stand the idleness any longer.
    She threw her legs down, cautiously feeling the floor with her left foot. The ankle felt all right. Relieved, she got up, reminding herself to bind it anyway.
    She wrapped herself up in a shawl and went into the kitchen. No Susan. Probably out collecting eggs. Alison stoked the stove and put a kettle of milk to warm. Then slipped her shoes on and went outside.
    Her sister was not in the shack behind the house. She checked the barn. Susan's horse was missing.
    Alison felt suddenly cold. No, she told herself. There had to be another explanation. She probably was at Bella's - but she wouldn't have needed the horse. Had she gone to town? Or to see Dr. Mike? But why not tell her? Had she gone to dismantle the Temperance League? Maybe. She probably wanted to get her piano back. But she hadn’t taken the wagon. Had she gone to the Army camp?
    Alison hurried inside the house to dress. Now she hoped Susan had gone to the Colorado Springs camp. Because the alternative could mean she had gone to Windy Creek.
    She hastily took the milk away from the stove, drank some of it while she pulled on her stockings, finished dressing up and ran out again. She took her horse and stopped at Bella's cabin, which stood along the trail some three hundred yards from her house. Her labourers had not seen Susan. They had not even heard her gallop by, although they usually were well aware of every coming and going.
    Alison sped to town. She kept telling herself that Susan could be anywhere - at Loren's, at Robert E's if she had discovered there was something wrong with her horse. But when she saw the camp deserted, the empty corral, the folded tents and the couple of sentries to guard the wagons, she knew.
    
    The Windy Creek camp on the lawn in front of the settlement was nothing more than a couple of fires already crackling in the afternoon, some tents and a makeshift hut for the ammunitions. Two soldiers were guarding the hut, and two were sitting before a fire. One of them wore a corporal's chevrons, and he jumped to his feet when he saw Alison approaching on horseback. A couple of miners, standing guard at their farm's windows, looked at her in surprise.
    "Winters!" she called, relieved despite herself. "Where is everybody?"
    "Sergeant's gone up on the mountain with the others," answered the young man, worried. "Miss Lowell, are you - "
    "Has anything happened?" she asked, dismounting. "We heard that - "
    "I know. Nothing, ma'am, no landslides. There's been a shootout yesterday, but nobody's badly injured. Your sister arrived here this mornin'. You met her?"
    "Met her? No! Isn't she still here?"
    Winters' eyes darkened. "I thought she'd gone back to Colorado Springs. If you come from there you shoulda met her on the way."
    Alison felt a cold shiver, as she reviewed in her mind the road she had taken, the only road between the settlement and the town. She had seen nothing that could speak of an accident, no trace of recent passages. Yet she had not really looked. "You let her go without an escort?"
    Winters looked drawn and earnest. He squared his shoulders. "I'm in command here, till the sergeant finishes his job. I can't spare any men. I thought since she'd come up here on her own she was able to get back!"
    Alison had an annoyed reaction. Yet she understood Winters completely. Susan conveyed that impression to anybody. The feeling that she could perfectly get by on her own. Something Susan had never managed to convince her sister of.
    "Then why haven't I seen her?" she burst out. "Got to go back. I'll look for her, and I hope..."
    Winters suddenly appeared remote. He stared for a moment into nothing, then said very softly "Damn."
    Alison looked at him. "What?"
    The young corporal turned his face away. "Markham got wounded yesterday. No big deal, just a bullet in the arm during a skirmish with the raiders. But he can't shoot, and the sergeant thought leavin' the wounded here was risky. Had 'em sent back to Denver. When Miss Susan came here, I told her. I thought I'd been clear enough, that he ain't grievously wounded, that his life ain't in peril - "
    "What do you mean, Winters?"
    "You may've seen a fork in the road, coupla miles from here. There's a trail goes down, a short cut towards Denver. A five-hours ride."
    Alison stared at him. She didn't want to believe it. Yet it would have been just like Susan. "You mean she went to Denver lookin' for him?"
    "She rode away so fast... I thought she wanted to get home as soon as possible, but now that I think about it... Aaaah!" He hit the palm of his hand on his brow. "How could I have been so stupid?"
    Alison felt very empty and cold. Susan had run away to Markham in Denver. Maybe she could still stop her. She turned towards her horse. The black mare was covered with sweat, head down, frothy at the lips. Alison looked around. There were five or six horses in a corral. But even if she convinced Winters to give her one of those, her ankle hurt more and more. She couldn't ride as fast as she would have liked.
    Winters slapped a hand on his thigh. "Henshall! Robinson! Saddle up an' get as fast as you can to Denver. Look for Miss Susan Lowell. Try at Headquarters or the barracks, 'round that airhead Markham. An' bring her back to Colorado Springs at once. Go!"
    As the two soldiers rode off, Alison almost smiled. Young Winters really sounded like he was studying at the sergeant's school. She felt a keen longing for McKay's presence. "Thank you," she said.
    Winters shrugged unhappily. "If somethin' goes wrong, it'll be on my head. It already is. Shoulda sent 'em with her this mornin'."
    "Now, Corporal. Stop that." Alison breathed deeply. It was getting dark fast, and cold. "Can you give my horse some food and water? I'll go home as soon as she's rested a bit."
    The young man nodded. "You too, rest a little here beside the fire. It's a long ride home."
    Alison nodded. She sat down heavily on the stool she was offered, trying not to think. Now the soldiers would search for Susan, and the thing was no more in her hands.
    Winters handed her a cup of coffee. "Sergeant's up that ridge with the others," he said, "checkin' for raiders above the settlement. They'll have to be back before evenin'."
    Alison shrugged, dejected. She could wait for their return, then what? Spend the night there? Be a nuisance to everyone? She held the warm cup between the palms of her hands, wishing just to go back to her orderly life - if ever that could be possible again.
    
    "There they are," said Sully pointing down.
    Leaning his forearms against a sloping stone, McKay tightened his jaws. The shadows among the rocks were already deepening, and it was hard to distinguish something. Yet there was an unmistakable movement on a ledge some ten meters below them. If he squinted, he could see the Army tents whitening well below. They were quite high on the side of the mountain, and for a moment his brain reeled.
    "They're settin' dynamite charges," said Sully. "Gotta stop 'em at once."
    McKay nodded. He turned to Deakin, who had followed the soldiers as the official Windy Creek representative, leaving relatives and friends to defend the settlement. "You go down this path with Matthew and Robert E." He nodded to two of his soldiers. "Go with them. Sully, you too. Dr. Quinn, try to stay out of danger. Me an' the others'll catch 'em on the other side. Everybody take care - I still don't believe our luck that there were no sentries around."
    Sully studied the place once again. He pointed to a rock below them. "You stop behind that, McKay. I should be able to see you from the other side. You give the signal. Let's try to scare 'em with our number an' hope they surrender. I'd like to avoid any shootin'."
    "Right. I'll set my men so that they can jump out all together."
    McKay left a couple of men up there, so that they could take aim at the raiders from above. Then he and Sully nodded at each other and started off in opposite directions. Michaela followed Sully.
    The sergeant began descending toward the rock, gesturing his men to be quiet. Nobody wore spurs, and they had left their horses just above the settlement where the road became too rough for them. They slipped easily among the rocks, making McKay proud and confident in them.
    He hoped his thoughts of Miss Lowell didn't make him timid in the face of danger. All he wanted right now was to solve the Windy Creek situation as soon as possible, and without other casualties. Then - He knew his stay in Colorado Springs was limited to the accomplishment of his mission. But he was anxious to ask Alison's permission to write to her from Denver. And he harboured the hope that, since he was beginning to have a solid experience with Colorado Springs, he and his men would be selected for the Fort Lafayette garrison. Then, then he would have time...
    
    Sully took his position, drawing Michaela close to him in the shelter of a curving wall. He could see the raiders very clearly now. He saw the dynamite, and the wires they were unrolling. A thoughtful job. They had clearly no intention to blow themselves up.
    He turned towards Michaela. "Whatever happens, don't you move from here," he said.
    She nodded resolutely, then brushed his arm. "You try not to get into trouble either, Sully," she whispered.   
    Now he was looking at the rock he had chosen for McKay. Still no movement. He took Michaela's hand and squeezed it. Then he checked the others' position - they had instinctively chosen good places, all of them, Matthew and Robert E, Deakin, and the two soldiers. These looked at him and nodded their acquiescence.
    That's incredible, thought Sully. There was hope, after all. He let out his breath and looked at the rock.
    Finally he saw a movement. He noticed what the raiders didn't, the soldiers taking their places. He saw someone slip behind the big rock, then look out cautiously and lift his arm.
    He answered the gesture, relying it with a glance at the others. Then he waited.
    A few seconds, then McKay came out of the rock, gun in hand, and with him his soldiers armed with rifles. "Everybody freeze!" he called out. The man knew how to bellow when necessary, Sully thought, as he gave his signal to his own men and jumped out of his shelter wielding his tomahawk.
    One of the raiders turned towards McKay's men, pointing his rifle. "Don't shoot!" Sully shouted in his turn. "You're surrounded. There are twenty men around you an' above you."
    "Lay down your arms," added McKay from the other side. "At once!"
    The raiders were no more than a dozen. They looked around, noticing they were outnumbered. Some lifted their eyes to the rocks above and decided to comply. In a few moments, all had laid their weapons on the rocky ground.
    McKay gestured to some of his men. As the others kept the raiders in their sights, they came down and collected the weapons. One cut the dynamite fuse to be on the safe side. Sully was beginning to breathe once more.
    Soon the raiders were rounded up, tied in a line and ready to go, and the soldiers up on the cliff had rejoined the others. McKay walked towards Sully and Michaela with that swaggering gait they had almost come to loathe in the Palmer Creek days. He was holding up his hat to wipe the sweat away, and though it seemed the circumstances were not worth a wide grin - what was worth a wide grin for him? wondered Michaela - he looked pleased. "Asked for a clean job, Mr. Sully, you got it," he said cheerfully, and gave him a companionable slap on the shoulder.
    Sully returned the gesture, feeling amusedly weird. "Sure. Thank you."
    "Thank you! This is outstandin'." He put his hat back on and resumed his seriousness. "Don't lower your guard," he said under his breath. "There may be others hidden around here. Let's go quickly, I'll feel really better when I'm on safe ground once again."
    
    It took almost forty minutes for them to reach the small rocky vale where they had left the horses. They were almost on a height with the now-unseen settlement, above the narrow beginning of the canyon that snaked around it. That crack in the mountain had been the source of the river which had delved the canyon, dried up not too long ago after some underground turmoil. Sully wondered about the miners and their liberal use of dynamite. He had protected them, but as far as the natural environment was concerned, they were not the good guys. It was so difficult to keep everything in balance.
    As they approached, Sully stared at the horses. "Say, McKay, there's somethin' we haven't found out yet. Where did they come from?"
    "Ain't up to us to discover that," answered the sergeant, walking carefully along the narrow dirt trail that coasted the canyon dangerously. "There'll be a regular investigation. Lotta things we don't know - who sent them, for example. But we did all that was asked of us."
    Sully nodded, not entirely reassured. He couldn't picture the raiders coming from very far without their horses. Stout mountain ponies could climb even higher than Army mounts. There were a couple of places where the raiders could have hidden their horses and he had made the soldiers check them, yet he couldn't say he knew Windy Creek palm by palm yet. McKay's men had taken away the dynamite from the rocks, but if there was still someone around there it could yet be dangerous for the miners and the friars.
    "Michaela," Sully said, "you better go back with Matthew an' Robert E. Don't leave Katie and Brian alone one more night."
    "I will," she said, kissing him goodbye. "What are you going to do?"
    He looked at her, narrowing his eyes against the wind that was beginning to blow more cruel in the late afternoon. "We'll reach the settlement an' stand watch once again. Tomorrow we'll have another look 'round here, to be sure we got 'em all."
    "Where will you keep them tonight?" she asked, nodding at the prisoners.
    McKay was already on his horse, like some of his soldiers. "We'll lock 'em up safe, don't you worry, Dr. Quinn," he said.
    As they spoke, Sully heard a small noise from the rocks. He looked around, moving just his eyes. The others did not seem to have noticed anything. Suddenly he saw some loose pebbles trickling down from a crack. He lifted his head sharply and noticed the glint of a rifle.
    "Watch out!" he called. By reflex McKay crouched down on his saddle, and the shot whistled over him as the echoes shook the canyon.
    The soldiers returned fire, chipping at the rocks. The man had ducked to safety.
    McKay swore through clenched teeth. "Everybody take cover -"
    "Don't shoot!" cried Sully, drawing out his tomahawk. "He's alone, I'll take care of him." He started up the rocks.
    "Sully!" shouted Michaela.
    Suddenly the ground beneath McKay's horse started trembling. Dust began to rise from the canyon.
    "What's this?" said Matthew, startled, looking at his now unsteady feet.
    Michaela held out a hand to him and dragged him with her on the solid rock. "It's a landslide! Everybody get back!"
    McKay moved to the rear of his soldiers. "Get away!" he shouted. "Get to those rocks!"
    Deakin, already on the safe side, turned to the prisoners, gun pointed. "Dontcha move."
    Michaela, coughing dust, grabbed one of the soldiers who was tripping on the rocks. "Sully, get down!"
    Standing on a ledge, Sully looked up and around, afraid that the landslide could get worse. The raider peeked out again and fired blind.
    "Stop!" shouted Sully. "Are you crazy? Stop!" The rock above him began falling apart. The attacker slipped from his shelter and slid down with the rubble. Solidly grabbing a hold, Sully held out a hand and snatched him by the nape of his neck, drawing him to safety. The still-confused man huddled on the ledge and tried to go for his knife. Sully knocked him out with the blunt edge of his tomahawk.
    The edge of the narrow trail was crumbling. "Move!" McKay shouted to the running soldiers. He bent down to take the hand of one of the last, when a handful of big rocks rolled among his horse's hooves. The beast bucked under him. He tried to steady the horse, but, having pushed everybody forward, he was too close to the cracking rim. The hooves lost their hold, and he fell off the trail.
    "McKay!" shouted Sully.
    It was no sheer drop, luckily. The horse, still upright, was sliding down the steep dusty side of an old landslide, loose pebbles everywhere. The sergeant tightened his knees, hoping the beast would find its footing back. The bottom was still a long way down below him, though, and suddenly the horse toppled over. McKay managed to let it go before getting crushed under it, and landed heavily and painfully among the small rocks. He kept sliding and rolling fast, arms before his face to protect himself should he hit some large boulder. He thought he was slowing down, and then he smashed hard into a slab of rock.
    
    Riding down along the canyon from the Army camp, Alison had stopped in her tracks when she had heard the shots. She had tried to understand what was happening, but from her point of view she could distinguish nothing. Then she heard the rumble of the landslide. Astonished, she carefully pushed her horse close to the rim and looked down. The canyon was deep and twisted and she could see but a part of it. She stared at a faint, billowing cloud of dust rising from it.
    Alison wondered what to do, upset. Somebody could be hurt. Yet getting down was risky, and the shots had surely not been directed at rabbits. She had never faced serious dangers before. She looked down. She could see no way of getting to the bottom of the canyon, yet... A little further along the path she saw a small steep trail which seemed to lead down.
    Help your neighbour, said the Bible. Getting down there seemed suddenly more useful than running a Temperance League. What would Marjorie Quinn do? And Dr. Quinn? Yet Alison was unarmed, her ankle hurt, her horse was tired. Nobody required her to get literally out of her way to meddle with things larger than her.
    Rubbish. She couldn't just ride on as if nothing had happened. She urged her horse on and took the narrow trail to the bottom.

    McKay found himself huddled against the wall and among the dust and pebbles, all sore and bruised. His head spun from the fall. He moved cautiously, pulling himself up on his knees. Nothing broken, no blood, just some rents in his jacket. He sat on his heels and looked around. The light had not changed, so he had not been knocked out for long, if at all. The rigid surface he had slammed into was a rocky wall. He realised he had slid clean from the top of the cliff down to the dry torrent bed and to the other side of the canyon. He lifted his eyes and noticed he couldn't see the trail from there. He had probably fallen down a twisting ravine, maybe the bed of an old affluent. A gust of biting wind struck his face, howling down the canyon.
    He got up and placed his hands around his mouth. "Sully! Dr. Quinn!" he shouted. "Mr. Deakin!" He thought they were calling him from the top, but the wind drowned everything. He walked deeper into the canyon to see them, to find a better position for calling. He couldn't recognise the place from where he had fallen. He screamed himself hoarse. No answer.
    He was beginning to be worried for them. Yet he had seen them all safe on solid rock before his fall. And if somebody had fallen with him now he would be down there too. Down there at the bottom of a cold barren canyon, with him and his horse.
    His horse!
    McKay turned sharply. There it stood, among the loose rocks. Relief was quickly smothered by an icy hand when he saw the beast holding up the left foreleg.
    The sergeant went to it, moving carefully among the pebbles. "There, li'l one, let me see." He took off his gloves in the cold air and started to slide his hands down the horse's powerful leg, afraid to meet broken bones, twisted junctures. He mentally checked that he still had his gun and some ammunition. The horse turned its head, placed its muzzle on the back of McKay's neck and blew warm air. He prayed he wouldn't have to do it. "Now don't move... all right... there's nothin' here. What's wrong with you?" He placed his shoulder firmly against the horse's and lifted the hoof with a grunt. There it was. A fairly large fragment of rock stuck within the curved nail. The sharp edges had punctured the softer tissue inside.
    Once again, McKay's spirits lifted. "It's nothin', li'l one," he said under his breath. He took his Army knife from the saddlebag and slid the wide blade between the stone and the nail. The big horse stirred and leaned heavily on him. "Just a moment, almost done." He levered, and the rock came off clattering among the others. Some blood oozed from the cut inside.
    "There you are," panted McKay, letting go of the hoof. The horse lowered it. Now it was able to put its weight on it.
    The sergeant pushed back his hair with both hands, pleased. "We've been both very lucky, li'l one," he said. He took out a small flask of bourbon, proceeding to pour some of it on the hoof. The horse fretted some more, because it burned. McKay patted its neck. "When we get back to camp I'll have it fumigated. Come on, now. Can't go back up, so I s'pose we'll have to go down."
    He unrolled his greatcoat from the saddle and put it on, then picked up his gloves. He spotted his hat and recovered it. It was not much against the cold, yet it was better than nothing. He led the horse by the reins, not wanting to weigh on him with all those sharp rocks on the ground. If he followed the canyon, he reasoned, he would soon be out of the mountains and able to look around. If only it hadn't been getting so dark, so damn cold...
    Hooves on rock.
    McKay turned. He expected Sully, Dr. Quinn, some of his men. Anybody but Alison Lowell. Such an unpredicted, dazzling sight that he wondered whether he had actually hit his head somewhere. For a moment he did not ask himself any questions. He just let the warm comfort of her presence sweep through him.
    Then he shouted, "What are you doin' here?"
    Alison just stared at him, as surprised as he was. Then she looked down at the loose pebbles and dismounted. "You all right, McKay?"
    "Yes. My horse got a rock in his hoof but - You're limpin'!"
    "It's nothing. Sprained my ankle some days ago. I heard shots. What happened?"
    "We captured the raiders," he answered. "There was a landslide. I was cut off from the others. Don't think there's an easy way back."
    "I don't know. I only know the road back to Colorado Springs."
    "Back to - Why, what were you doin' up here?" he repeated.
    Alison leaned on her horse's neck. Her eyes filled with tears.
    "Miss Lowell," whispered McKay, appalled. He reached out to her, taking her arm, wanting to pull her to him and comfort her for whatever haunted her.
    She almost let go. Then straightened up and looked into the misty depths of the canyon. "Susan ran away from home last night. She joined Markham in Denver. I came to search for her - Winters sent some men towards Denver, but he couldn't..."
    McKay was speechless. She looked faint with weariness and grief and physical pain. He led her to a boulder and made her sit down. He couldn't refrain from touching her, keeping her close to himself. "First of all, you can't go around with a sprained ankle."
    Alison lifted her shoulders. She smiled ruefully. "Dr. Mike told me to bind it tight and not ride on it."
    McKay looked down. Under her skirt hem, her ankle was not even bound. It looked swollen all right. He quickly untied his neckerchief. "This should do for the moment." He placed unconsciously his hand on her knee, then thought better of it. She was not his horse. He gave her the neckerchief.
    Alison thanked him and tied it tight around her ankle.
    "You thought you'd find Susan down here?" asked McKay.
    "No," she answered. "I thought I would find somebody in need."
    He tried to think about something to say, then he closed his eyes. "I shoulda never brought my soldiers to your League."
    Alison stared into emptiness. "It’s not your fault. Nor Susan's. I - I should have talked more to her. I should have understood that keeping her in check meant only to - to alienate her from me. But I had to do that..." Her eyes filled with tears.
    McKay waited. He felt something else was coming.
    She gulped down her anguish. "Ten years ago," she said slowly, "when our parents died, I met a young student of economics. I was engaged to him six years. Then he left me."
    "Deserted you at the altar?" asked McKay, astonished.
    "Oh, to go as far as plannin' the altar would have required more backbone than he was possessed of," answered Alison bitterly. "He simply found better to do than go on courtin' me. But you know, there was never any real reason for the things he did. Anyway he jumped the boat a little too late. I had a house to run, I had no time anymore to go out with young men." Alison moved the pebbles with her good foot. "I swore to myself this would never happen to Susan. So I threw her into the arms of the first rogue she saw."
    McKay was almost shaking with rage. "But if I hadn't served her the rogue on a silver dish -"
    "All right, guilt contest's over, let's call it a draw," said Alison briefly. "We'll think about it next round. Now what do we do?"
    McKay breathed in the keen air. He lifted his eyes to the walls of the canyon. "I think we gotta go back to Colorado Springs. If I know Dr. Quinn and Sully, they'll search for me, but we can't wait for 'em. It's too cold. If they manage to get down here and find no trace of me, they'll understand I've gone back to town. Don't want 'em to worry, but I can't help it."
    Alison nodded. "I don't know where this canyon leads, but the road I was riding on is easy to find."
    "It's probably the one leading down from the settlement. We'd better get to it. Can you walk?"
    "Yes," she answered. She got up almost without his help, shivering.
    The sergeant led her to her horse, checking if she needed support. Before she took the reins, she turned to him with a small smile. "We're just the kind to meet at the bottom of a cold, dry canyon, aren't we, McKay?"
    He looked at her, surprised. He too had been thinking it was no coincidence, but hearing her say it aloud moved him. "Happens when one looks out for stragglers, unmindful of oneself," he answered.
    "Indeed," she said ruefully.
    They reached the bottom of the small steep trail Alison had taken to get down. There were no loose stones anymore, so they could get back in the saddle. The wind was roaring now, chilling them through their clothes. McKay pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes. Alison was wearing a heavy shawl, but already it was not enough to protect her. McKay handed her his blanket, and she threw the shawl over her bonnet. Huddled on their saddles, head down like their horses, they rode up and out of the canyon.
    
    "I can't see him!" cried Robert E.
    He and Sully were staring down the quickly darkening canyon. The dust had settled, but they couldn't distinguish the bottom clearly, and the wind was getting into their eyes.
    "Is it possible to go down?" asked Michaela, who, after checking that the raider knocked out by Sully would make it to the trial, was all set to take care of anybody else.
    Sully looked carefully for any safe way. "Impossible from here," he said. "We'd lose time takin' a detour, an' by then the canyon could be inhabitable. If McKay's conscious, he knows he gotta get outta there as soon as he can."
    "And if he's not, or he's hurt and can't move?" asked Michaela, worried. "Sully, we must look for him!"
    Sully took a deep breath. "I s'pose so."
    A corporal stepped forward, a grizzled fellow who already had struck Sully as being more experienced than most in the ways of the mountains. "We'll do it," he said. "We got coats and blankets. If the sergeant's down there we'll find him, Dr. Quinn."
    "I'm coming with you," she said quickly. "Matthew, when we are on the other side you go straight to Colorado Springs and the homestead, see that Brian and Katie are all right. Robert E, you go home to Grace too."
    Sully looked in Michaela's eyes. He knew there was no way of swerving her. "Corporal," he said, "could we have some blankets too?"
    "Sure." The man took three soldiers to follow him, and ordered the rest to take the prisoners to the settlement. "See that the miners don't go for vengeance."
    Matthew was staring down the canyon, annoyed. "Man, that was dumb," he said. "Here we are, all frantic just 'cause he managed to fall down a canyon..."
    Sully patted him gently on the shoulder. "Happens to the best, Matt. Come on, stayin' here's useless."
    
    Out of the canyon the wind was less strong, yet by then it was almost dark. McKay and Alison headed as fast as they could towards Colorado Springs, but they couldn't see the trail very well and had to be cautious. And the air was still very cold. The sergeant's calculations had been wrong; he had hoped to be out of the mountains by nightfall. It would probably have been better to bring Alison back to the settlement, though the road was tougher and he was afraid for her ankle. Anyway, now it was useless to ruminate on it. They were both used to hardships and a few shivers did not frighten them, but before they could realise it they were frozen to the bone, and their horses moved rigidly.
    "Gotta stop," whispered McKay through chattering teeth. He had spotted an opening in the rocks. He climbed down from the horse and went to check it. Another small dried-up affluent of Windy Creek. On its stony banks were some old trunks, pulled down by a flood when water still ran in that bed. The place was fairly sheltered from the wind.
    He noticed that Alison had followed him, leading both their horses. He nodded towards an overhanging rock wall. With his knife he cut some small branches from the old rotting trunks, then took up an armful of them and rejoined Alison. While she placed the horses' reins under a rock he knelt down and tried to light a fire with his flint. His hands were trembling, his eyes stinging for the cold. At last he managed to set fire to the sticks.
    Alison covered the horses’ backs with the blankets that had been folded under the saddles. She fed the fire with thicker branches, then held out her uncovered hands to it. Meanwhile McKay used the knife to break some larger chunks of wood and piled them on the fire and close to it.
    "This should keep it goin' all night," he said. "Now we better sleep."
    They sat down together below the rock, on one side of the fire. The horses stood as close as they could on the other side. McKay unbuttoned his coat and made her snuggle inside it. They lay down on the cold stone and she leaned her head on his shoulder, then he threw the blanket over them both. "Slide it under you," he warned Alison, "or your body heat'll seep through this rock." She rolled around a little, until they were solidly wrapped up in a bundle.
    Alison locked her arms behind his neck and tried to follow his advice about sleep, shutting her eyes. They were both still shivering uncontrollably, despite the closeness of the fire. He smelled of gunpowder and sweat, and felt very solid to her touch. Very strong and rough. His bristly whiskers tickled her.
    McKay kept rubbing his gloved hands on her back to keep her warmer. The skin of her face pressed against his was so cold. Gradually, her tremors began to subside. The warmth of the fire had finally begun to melt her chilly flesh.
    Alison could tell that McKay, too, felt a little better now. She sensed the heat radiating from his body close to hers. The movements of his hands had slowed hypnotically, and it was not so difficult anymore for her to keep her eyes closed. She was gradually falling into a comfortable slumber, snuggled up in McKay's arms.
    The moment he had realised they were going to spend the night together in the wilderness, McKay had begun steeling himself against this. He was determined not to take advantage of her in any possible way. But he hadn't been able to anticipate fully the overwhelming physical closeness of the adorable "Ladies for Temperance" chairwoman. It was so good to feel her skin against his, now. And he had not expected her to start purring. Actually purring, a rhythmic, soft, contented vibration in her throat. He looked at her. Sensing him move, she lifted her eyelids on a wide searching stare, her lips softly apart.
    She was taking in all the details of McKay's face. Sometimes she still had trouble picturing clearly his rather bland features, but now, in the firelight, she could trace with her eyes the clean line of his eyebrows, his tanned skin, his unforgiving mouth. And those eyes, the look they had. A small movement and he was kissing her, gently, hungrily, trying to assuage the rolling waves of desire which racked them.
    His lips were warm and soft, his touch very tender. There was nothing rough about him, now. In the recklessness of the moment she slid partly under him. For a moment their bodies brushed against each other like their mouths. Then it was McKay who pulled back.
    "We better sleep," he said again, wearily lowering his head to Alison's shoulder. That gesture moved her deeply, for a distant reason she did not want to bring up now. She was safe with him. She didn't think she would manage to sleep, ecstatic as she was. Instead she went down like a log.
    From the path outside, the light of the fire was barely visible. Matthew and Robert E, riding fast with a lantern to guide their way, did not see it.

    "Alison. Wake up, Alison."
    Who on earth was calling her name like that? She shifted a little, her back stiffened by hours of laying on unyielding rock. She felt all warm, except for half of her face and the knuckles of one hand. She was still wrapped up in the blanket and part of McKay's coat; her cheek still pressed against his, her hand entwined in his hair.
    "Come on, wake up," he whispered again in her ear.
    Alison stirred, opening her eyes to the pale light of sunrise. McKay's arms began to unwind from her body. He had been laying with his hip over hers, protecting her from most of the wind and the cold; now he rolled on his side and looked at her. He was the most beautiful sight on a cool June dawn.
    "Good morning," she said, withdrawing her hand from his hair and smoothing it down.
    McKay smiled, then bent down again and lightly pressed his lips on her shoulder. He wished to remain with her like this, until the sun hidden behind the rock wall turned the bend to warm their joined bodies. He sighed and pulled them both up in a sitting position, rubbing the arm which had been trapped under her. He looked around, assessing their location by the light of day.
    Alison followed his gaze, but her thoughts couldn't fully come back to their predicament. She leaned on his shoulder and was delighted to feel him lean likewise on her. She couldn't believe his behaviour. He was not embarrassed, no justifications or excuses, no pretending that it hadn't happened or that it wasn't important. It had happened and it was important. It had been just a little thing, nothing more than a chaste embrace and a kiss, yet it mattered.
    She realised it was Sunday and they were both skipping church. They shared some of his rations, then started off again. The thought of Susan was coming back to gnaw at Alison, poisoning the sweetness she felt.
    
    The ride back to Colorado Springs was the final blow to Alison's ankle. When they stopped in front of her farm, a little before noon, she had trouble pulling her foot free of the stirrup. McKay helped her down. She refused to let him carry her inside the house and hopped to the door leaning on his arm. She almost thought she would find Susan there, as if nothing had happened. Yet the house was as empty as she had left it the morning before.
    She sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. "There's some water in that canter," she told him. At least the house was warm. The sun had been shining on it all morning.
    McKay was looking around with a certain curiosity. It was a fair-sized kitchen, with a small table, a big stove and two long sideboards. At the back a door with a curtain presumably led to the sisters' room. A lighter square in the wainscot along a wall probably marked the place where the League's piano had stood, and some books were piled on a shelf. There were small things on the walls, portraits and holy images, painted plates and bunches of dried flowers, and he would have loved to ask her their significance. He brought his attention back to the present. He took the canter and two glasses from a cupboard. He gave her one and drank his without sitting down. He needed to go and look for Sully and Dr. Quinn. Maybe they had already arrived in town. Otherwise he would have to go back up.
    The atmosphere of the house was intoxicating. The physical warmth of the sun through the white curtains and the dust dancing in its light, but also the feeling of comfort, of home. It even smelled like a place to live in. For a moment McKay surrendered to a deep wistfulness. Then he remembered that right now Alison's home was for her the theatre of a nightmare.
    He put down the glass and turned to her. She was staring at the table, as exhausted as he was. "Shall I do somethin' else for you?" he asked. She shook her head negatively. Softer: "Do you want me to go?" No answer.
    Suddenly McKay felt more alone with Alison, right there in her own house, than during the night, sleeping in her embrace. Uneasiness seized him. No, there was no question of staying. He was technically on duty, and they were searching for him.
    He opened his mouth to tell her he was going. Someone placed the point of a rifle in the small of his back.
    Alison barely moved her head. "It's all right, Bella," she said. "He's a friend."
    The gun lifted. McKay relaxed and turned. It was a handsome older woman, a look of diffidence on her brown face. "You found Susan?" she asked, giving him a wide berth without taking her suspicious eyes off him.
    "She's fine," said Alison.
    McKay realised she did not want to talk in front of him. "I'll go, now," he said. "Take care of yourself."
    "You too," she answered softly.
    He nodded deferentially at Bella and went out quickly.
    The woman followed him with her eyes. "Now what was that?"
    "That was Sergeant McKay," answered Alison.
    "Shall we keep him?"
    "Bella!"
    "He'd improve the landscape."
    Alison would have wanted nothing else than remain there sitting at her table, leisurely discussing Sergeant McKay with her friend. "Bella, I must tell you about Susan..."
    
    At sunset, Bella was still with Alison. She had briefly gone to town to check with Horace whether there were news from Denver and to send wires to all the families Alison still knew there. Meanwhile Alison dozed, holding to her heart the newly-made cushion for the Army kitten. At least she was not worried for him. He'd popped up at the farm, but Bella hadn't been able to catch him. She had put out a bowl of milk, complaining that they had no time or resources to take care of stray cats. Alison was thinking about McKay.
    After managing to stuff some meat pie down Alison's throat, Bella was trying to tuck her in for the night, when she heard a gallop outside. She looked out of the kitchen's window. "It's the doctor," she called. "Now she'll make you see reason, girl."
    Alison looked up, curious despite her dejection. Michaela came in quickly, clothes all dusty and crumpled, eyes shining with tired alacrity. "Miss Lowell! What on earth have you been doing?"
    She didn't answer, unsure of what McKay could have told her. "Susan's gone to -"
    "I know, Sgt. McKay informed me. He says she was at Windy Creek yesterday and went on to Denver. They're looking for her now." She accompanied her to her room, nodding to Bella she could go home. "But there's something I don't understand. McKay came back to the settlement this afternoon while we were still searching for him, and claimed he had learned of Susan from you..."
    "What is it that you don't understand, Doctor?" asked Alison, sitting down on her bed.
    "Why did McKay come back to town? It was faster for him to get back to the settlement, since both he and his horse were all right. Come on... Let's see this ankle."
    As Michaela took off her shoe, Alison suddenly remembered something. Too late now, she thought.
    The doctor looked at the dirty rag which still tied Alison's ankle. "Not much of a dressing," she said in gentle reproach, opening her bag. "If you'd sent Bella to town, Brian would have opened the clinic and given her some clean bandages." She took out the scissors and accosted them to the makeshift binding.
    "No!" exclaimed Alison. "I'll do it." She bent down and untied the knot. She put the piece of cloth aside. Involuntarily, Michaela followed the gesture, and Alison saw understanding in her eyes.
    "That's not a rag," said the doctor slowly.
    "No."
    "That's a cavalryman's neckerchief."
    "That's a very common kind of neckerchief," said Alison, taking off her stockings.
    Michaela's eyes lit up. "You came up to the camp looking for Susan," she whispered. "McKay did not meet you here, he..." She looked at her in utter surprise. "Oh, Miss Lowell, I didn't mean to snoop."
    Alison shook her head. "That's not the case, Dr. Mike." She started telling her story as Michaela bandaged her ankle. "Yesterday McKay found me returning to Colorado Springs as he came out of the canyon, and helped me get home. We had to stop along the road to take shelter from the wind and get some sleep. That's all." She was wary of letting her feelings out.
     Michaela took her hand warmly. "It's all right, Miss Lowell. Rest, now." She helped her take off her dress. "You must remain in bed for at least three days to heal that ankle."
    "But I can't," said Alison, getting rid of her corset and petticoat. Luckily my shirt's in good shape, she thought with a touch of vanity. "I don't know if and when Susan returns, I'll have to do double work. Bella will help me, but she already does so much..."
    "We'll find a way," said Michaela, coaxing her under the covers.
    "Where's McKay now?" Alison said sleepily, slowly drawing a hand over her eyes.
    The doctor smiled. "Most of the garrison moved back to Colorado Springs this evening. I suppose right now he's sleeping too. He's had quite a full day."
    "Now they'll go away."
    "I don't know," admitted Michaela. "Rest, now."
    "Thank you, Dr. Mike."
    Alison shifted under the covers, searching for a position that didn't hurt her ankle. Michaela lowered the flame in the lamp on the nightstand, then crossed the darkened kitchen. She got out, barely discerning Flash's white-striped muzzle in the dusk.
    "Dr. Quinn."
    She turned to see Sergeant McKay standing there on the porch, hat in hand. "How is she?"
    "She's all right. Resting."
    "May I see her?"
    Michaela looked at him, pleasantly astonished. Well, she'd had to see this to believe it! She opened the door and pointed to Alison's room with a finger on her lips.
    McKay came in and stopped on the bedroom's threshold. Alison had managed to find a comfortable position on her side. She was sleeping quietly. He looked at her, leaning on the door frame, head tilted. Michaela knew that expression, though not on his face. She wondered what he was thinking, then realised he was not thinking at all. He was too worn out for that. He was just watching her and listening to her breathing, to his own heart.
    At last he drew back and went out in silence. Michaela followed him. On the porch he put on his hat and turned to her. "Thank you, Dr. Quinn."
    She smiled. "Why does everybody thank me? I did nothing. You're the one who treated her, kept her safe and brought her back. You're the one who..."
    "Who brought disgrace to her," he added bitterly.
    "Not just that," Michaela was ready to counter.
    He half smiled, looking at the dark wooden floor.
    "I know you won't fail her," she added softly.
    "Not on my life," McKay said, lifting his head. "Good night, Doctor." He held out a hand and shook hers, then turned away towards the gate, where he had left his horse.

    On Monday morning, as Preston came down to open the bank, he found Sheriff Simon and Sergeant McKay on the steps.
    "I'd like to continue the talk we began some days ago," Daniel said.
    Preston greeted a little old lady walking by. "I thought our talk was finished," he answered without looking at the sheriff.
    "Don't think so. Sgt. McKay here got a coupla things to tell you 'bout the Windy Creek attacks."
    "I told you all I know," the banker answered, flashing smiles at the passers-by.
    "An' I say you're responsible for the death of one of my soldiers an' one of the friars," said McKay in an even but very audible tone of voice. Somebody turned.
    Preston reddened. "That's not true!" he hissed.
    McKay looked at him calmly, eyebrows raised. "A judge'll decide that. Sheriff Simon's here to arrest you."
    The banker was outraged. He opened the door brusquely. "Come inside."
    The two men followed him. While Preston locked the door, Daniel sat astride a chair, while the sergeant remained standing, arms crossed. "I am in no possible way responsible for what happened at Windy Creek," said the banker. "You have nothing against me."
    McKay made a conciliatory gesture with his hands. "I'd be inclined to believe you," he said, "'cause it'd really be suicidal otherwise. If only the story you told Sheriff Simon the other night wasn't so absurd."
    "It's the truth," said Preston, looking away.
    "It isn't," urged Daniel.
    "Come on, Mr. Lodge," added McKay, "the real truth. You couldn't be worse off than you are now. I bet somethin'll come up against you, if we look well. An' you can't rely on your status anymore."
    Preston glared at him. Then he surrendered and told them what he knew.
    
    Alison was not likely to stay confined in bed for three days. She awoke on Monday morning, and her tightly-bound ankle did not bother her much. She reached for her clothes and dressed while sitting on the edge of the bed. Then, leaning on a broomstick, she went into the kitchen.
    Bella was already there, taking the bread out of the stove. "You should stay in bed," she said in a warning tone.
    "Better not," Alison answered. "I tried. I just lay there an’ kept thinkin’."
    "You are the thinkin' kind."
    "But not today, please." She sat at the table and poured herself a cup of milk. "You should be with your family, Bella."
    "Today Abe's cookin'. For the joy of the children."
    That made Alison sigh.
    "Susan's all right," said Bella, gently. "Don't worry about her. Rather, tell me more 'bout that good-lookin' soldier I saw leavin' your house again yesterday evenin'."
    Alison smiled wanly. She felt her cheeks burn. She really wished to let herself be engulfed again by her ever-changing feelings. Bella would have been intrigued by the report of the Windy Creek night. Alison was amused at the thought that it was the first time she felt like telling a friend about a man.
    "Well, you know, Bella," she began, "McKay is... he's not... actually..."
    They lifted their heads. A sound of hooves was approaching the house.
    Bella jumped up and looked out of the window. "Oh, Alison," she said. "Now, don't run out but - It's Susan."
    Alison sat there, speechless. While Bella went to open the door, she slowly got up and pushed back the chair. Leaning on her broomstick, she got to the threshold just as Susan stopped her horse in front of the house.
    "Allie!" she called at once, beaming. She looked just the same as when she had gone away - Alison noticed she had taken her best clothes with her. Susan saw her sister's bandaged ankle and frowned. "Oh, Allie, what happened to you?"
    Her concern and compassion pierced Alison. She smiled, holding out her arms, and Susan dismounted and ran to her, embracing her. "What happened? How'd it go at Windy Creek?"
    "All went well," answered Alison. "I’m all right, don’t worry."
    Susan looked at her mischievously. "Did Winters tell you something?"
    "Who - Winters? What!"
    "I don't know... that he wants to marry you."
    "But for God's sake, Susan!" Alison couldn't help laughing. Then she sobered. "And Markham?"
    Susan giggled. Then lifted her left hand. At her finger shone a finely-wrought gold ring.
    Alison's breath caught in her throat. "Susan... you mean you're engaged?"
    "I mean I'm Mrs. Edward Markham!!!"
    Alison stared at her. Horror and relief mixed incoherently in her soul. She was about to scream, then saw how happy Susan looked. She embraced her again, feeling a lump in her throat.
    
    "So that's your story?" concluded McKay.
    Preston nodded, sitting in his armchair, hands clenched together.
    The sergeant exchanged a look with Daniel.
    "Sounds credible," said the sheriff.
    McKay's hard stare did not waver. "Two men died. I wanna be sure everybody involved is punished."
    "But I helped you. Doesn't this count?"
    The sergeant nodded. "It does. Yet you are involved."
    "You need a culprit? I even pointed out to you a likely mastermind behind the plan."
    "That's true." McKay straightened up and looked closely at Preston. "I don't wanna see you ruined, Mr. Lodge. I want justice."
    "You'll have it. Also because of me."
    McKay pushed away from the wall where he had been leaning. "All right. I won't indict you. Inside tradin's not my business. But watch your step, Mr. Lodge. I'll keep an eye on you."
    Preston did his best not to look relieved. He was helped by a furious beating on the door. He got up to open. A young corporal stood on the threshold. "Sgt. McKay here?"
    The sergeant came up to him. "What's wrong, Winters? Problems in dismountin' the camp?"
    "No, sir," answered the young man, bitterly. "But you better come with me at once."
    
    The soldiers were striking down the tents. What was left of the camp was all in a bustle. McKay saw O'Malley pointing towards his tent. Markham was standing before it, arm in a sling.
    McKay dismounted. Winters had briefed him on the way to the camp. "Congratulations, Markham," he said coldly. "How's that arm? You were wounded just three days ago."
    "I came as soon as I was able to board the train," smiled Markham. "Susan had some things to collect at home."
    McKay nodded. "I got somethin' for you too." He went inside his tent and came out with a burlap sack which held all his private belongings. A soldier was just then carrying out of the tent the chest with his Army things. McKay took a folder with some papers, pen and ink, sat down at his table and began writing. "I'm puttin' you down for a medal for bravery, Markham. You were wounded in the course of your duty. An' I'll see what I can do 'bout a promotion to Corporal."
    "Thank you, sir. I could use the extra money."
    "Indeed you could." McKay left him to wait as he finished writing on the first sheet, without dismissing him. He started a new sheet. "I'm suggesting to Headquarters that you might begin service with Captain Miller's troop a week from now."
    Markham looked at the papers McKay was handing him. He took them, perplexed. "A transfer, sir?"
    "Miller's a good man, you'll do well with him."
    "Pardon me, sir, I thought I did well with you too."
    McKay raised a cold stare on him. "You behaved irresponsibly with Miss Susan. I'd be entitled to take graver measures, Markham. I'll be satisfied to have you outta my sight."
    "With all due respect, sir," said the soldier, pointedly, irritatingly, "I did the honourable thing with her. She came to look for me and declared her feelings, and I immediately found a priest and we got married. I didn't misbehave in any way. You have my word for it."
    "The honourable thing," said McKay slowly, "woulda been to put the girl under the care of some respectable officer's wife the moment she set foot in Denver, then send a message to her sister."
    Markham smiled. "Well then, Sergeant, I suppose we'd never have got married if I had waited for her sister's permission." He lowered confidentially his voice with the ease of male solidarity. "You may not have talked to her much, sir, but I did. She's an embittered spinster, and envious that her younger sister found a man. She's got a heart like a withered..."
    "Get out of this camp, Markham, before I tear up those papers," said McKay. His whispered words slammed into the soldier like a storm wind.
    Running his hand over his face hot with rage, the sergeant watched him go. Like a withered what? He pictured Alison two nights before, all soft in his arms, her lips warming beneath his. He conjured up her smile, her sweetness. Markham was a fool.
    He looked around. The first soldiers were already starting away under Corporal Winters' orders. The others were packing the last things. He got up and called Corporal O'Malley. "You seen the cat?"
    "The cat? You mean the kitty that slept on your stool every day, Sergeant? No trace of 'er since we started packin'. Looks like she ain't the kind for goodbyes."
    Who is, anyway. McKay felt saddened. He had wanted to give the kitten to Alison. He hoped he - she? - would get by, maybe show up in town and be picked up by a kind soul. Someone who didn't have to go away at once.
    He turned sharply. "O'Malley, see that the garrison leaves in an orderly way. I'm off for half an hour, I'll rejoin you at..."
    A sound of hooves attracted their attention. An unknown corporal was galloping towards them. He stopped before them. "Sergeant McKay?"
    "That's right."
    "I got urgent orders for you from Captain Coleman."
    "Who?"
    The corporal looked offended. "Captain Coleman, sir. The officer who will take command of Fort Lafayette."
    "It's decided, then."
    "Yes. Captain Coleman is in Denver right now. He wants an immediate report from you on the location of the fort."
    "Listen, there'll be time for that. We're just leavin', and we'll be in Denver in two days. Then..."
    "I got orders to escort you to Denver now, sir. Captain Coleman wants to see you at once."
    McKay was already beginning to hate that name. "Do I have half an hour to patch up some unfinished business?"
    "'Fraid not, sir."
    The sergeant sighed with irritation. A small despair was gnawing at his heart. He turned towards the table, just before two soldiers folded it to put it away, and bent to scribble something on a scrap of paper.
    "Sorry, sir, but my orders say..."
    McKay turned slowly. "Do I have thirty seconds to leave a note, Corporal?" 
    The man seemed to get smaller. "Yes, sir."
    The sergeant opened again his folder and took out two envelopes. He wrote something on the first and folded the scrap of paper in it, then put it all into the other envelope and wrote something else. He tied it with string and a tight knot. He had no time to use his Army seal.
    "Private!" He called the first soldier he saw on horseback without parcels. "Take this to town. Then rejoin Corporal Winters."
    "Yes, sir." The man took the envelope, gave it a quick look and started away.
    McKay let out a long breath. He held out a hand towards his table. There was no table anymore, and the corporal from Denver was waiting impatiently. He closed his sack again and gave it to O’Malley, then walked towards his horse, eyes down, leaving behind the haunting Windy Creek nights.
    
    Alison was sitting under the porch with pad and pencil in her hands. She wanted to be utterly fair to Susan. She had always imagined that in case of her younger sister marrying she would give her half the land to build her own house. But Susan was going to live with Markham in Denver, or wherever he would be sent by the Army, so she had to reason in terms of shares and profits. Giving Susan her part in money would mean asking for a loan from Preston's bank.
    The whinnying of a horse made her lift her head. Michaela Quinn was coming to see her.
    The doctor stopped before her and dismounted. "How do you feel, Miss Lowell? How's your ankle?"
    "Better, thank you," answered Alison apathetically.
    Michaela got closer to her. "I'm sorry about your sister leaving so suddenly."
    Alison shrugged. "I'm glad for her."
    "Miss Lowell, I have a message for you."
    "For me?"
    "Yes. It came to the clinic in an envelope addressed to me, with no return address and no signature. You probably will know what it's about."
    Michaela handed her the letter inscribed Miss Alison Lowell. She opened the envelope and read at a glance the small neat handwriting.       

    Army's leaving.
    Got to get to Denver at once.
    Hope I'll be in Fort L this Autumn.
    I'll write soon.
    Yours, McK.

     "Thank you," Alison said.
    "Should you need anything..."
    She nodded. Michaela mounted again and ambled towards the gate.
    Alison flattened down the small message on the table. It was all too easy to be cheered up by it.
    She got up carefully and got inside the house. The lighter square on the wall was going to stay like that: Susan had taken away the piano with her. Alison had never been good at playing it, anyway. She went into the room she had shared with Susan and sat down on her own bed. The yellow neckerchief was still lying there, and she let the small note fall on it. Everybody goes away, she thought. Sooner or later. And she was no Army kitten, to go and follow her heart on a whim. Staring at Susan's empty bed, finally, tears began streaming down her face.

    Captain Coleman had taken very seriously the building of Fort Lafayette.
    As he oversaw the laying of the foundations on the flat hill between the woods and the mountains, he was already making plans. It was a turbulent area, that much was certain. Indians, miners, raiders, outspoken townspeople. They needed Army presence on a daily basis. He would see to it.
    He had to think about the garrison. The men that had guarded Colorado Spring during the Dog Soldiers’ raids had received mixed reviews at best. He had to consider very carefully calling them back or not. It was true they knew the place; it was also true their commander was spoken of more and more as being an Indian sympathiser. He'd get quite lost in the crowd up here, though, and certainly would not be involved in command decisions - yet Coleman had to weigh the question. Maybe that sergeant was more suited for some mission in Alaska or something.
    He folded his maps and stood looking at the proceedings, sure that he would make the right decision.
    From under a cluster of leaves a small furry cat was looking at him, sniffing silently.

The End