Like every February 14, the Valentine's Ball was going full sails.
    Jake, Loren and Hank, with Preston a rather unusual fourth, stood a little to the side of the meadow, watching the proceedings by the light of lanterns and torches. Jake was slightly out of breath, having danced the previous dance with Teresa. The current one was another lively gig with some simple figures for the unsophisticated townsfolk. There had been swirling and stamping, some crossing of the "ballroom" and some exchange of couples, and right now the women were dancing in the middle, while the men stood on a line by the side, clapping their hands and tapping their feet in time with the music. Jake noticed Matthew and Brian Cooper, a farmer from the south outskirts of the town whose name escaped him, and a young soldier, one Corporal Winters who seemed to be hopelessly courting one of Hank's girls; then Sheriff Simon, a kilted Sgt. McKay and an unusually frivolous Robert E who seemed to be having the time of his life, watching Grace twirl arm in arm with Brian's young date, Sara Sheehan. Teresa was not far, holding Grace's baby in her arms and chatting with Michaela and Sully.
    Jake took a deep breath and straightened his waistcoat. His gaze drifted back to McKay, clapping his hands unselfconsciously as he kept track of Alison among the ladies. "I don't know," he muttered.
    Hank followed his look. "Ya mean 'bout the way he's dressed?" he answered with a wide grin.
    "I mean, there he is, married to a local lady an' takin' part in the life of the town, an' yet..."
    "He's not one of us," finished Preston.
    "Oh, come on," cut in Loren, "what does one have to do, pass some kind of test? Receive a certificate of citizenship? Seems a decent 'nuff fella to me."
    "He's Army," stated Hank. "They made a mess 'round here two years ago. He wasn't even able to catch Sully when we were lookin' for him."
    "Which is just as well," Loren reminded him, "because Sully was reprieved, remember?"
    Hank made a face and let the subject fall. "Anyway I don't like that Fort Skunk up in the mountains. For our defence, they say. Well, we've always defended ourselves pretty well, haven't we?"
    The dance was reaching its end with the last mixing of men and women. McKay took Alison under his arm and made a couple of turns with her, then took her by the waist and lifted her from the ground. The musicians stopped and she collapsed in his arms, laughing, while all around them the other couples complimented each other.
    "I don't know," said Jake again. "Can't get much outta him. Remember when we invited him to the hot spring?"
    "Yeah," said Loren. "We'd planned to make him relax an' tell us somethin' about himself. He relaxed all right, he put his hands behind his head an' fell asleep. We weren't able to get a word out of him!"
    "To find a way to exploit him, you mean," said Preston, ironically.
    "Same as you been tryin' to do since he came to town," shot back Jake.
    The musicians struck up the classic finale of the evening, the slow waltz that gathered all the couples on the dance floor. Michaela and Sully, hand in hand, moved to join the dance in a tender embrace. McKay and Alison tarried on the side. He was still a little out of breath, but smiled and gladly led her on.
    "Well, he did help us defeat the New Travelling All Stars," admitted Loren. "Fine catcher. Looks good in the Springers' shirt, too."
    "He was awful in the Halloween play," countered Preston
    "Never sets foot in the Gold Nugget," added Hank.
    "You know what married men are like," replied Jake with a sidelong look at him. "Which reminds me. Gentlemen." He took his leave and turned towards Teresa, to accompany her on the dance floor after she had carefully laid Grace's baby back in the arms of his mother.
    Loren shook his head. "Can't really find anythin' against Sgt. McKay," he concluded. "We could as well consider him one of us. After all, what could ever happen now?"
    McKay and Alison were turning slowly to the music. She had laid her head on his shoulder. They did not look like they were going to spend much more time at the party.
    "One thing's for sure," added Loren, "he's a lucky fellow."
    "Quite lucky," admitted Preston.
    "Yeah," chimed in Hank.
    "Come on," concluded Loren, "let's get our partners an' join the fray."
    "If you will excuse me," said Preston, "tomorrow morning the train will bring to town a potential business partner for me. It's just about time that I get back where I belong. Therefore I will need to be fresh. Goodnight." He started off in the darkness, followed by Loren's disapproving stare.

    The next day, Sully was waiting at the railway station, sitting before Horace's office. He seemed lost in pleasant thoughts. He lifted his head when he saw Sgt. McKay approaching on his horse. Alison was driving her wagon behind him, wearing his green-blue tartan plaid as a shawl.
    "Coulda bet you'd never show up, McKay," Sully greeted him good-naturedly, with a nod to the lady.
    "Thought the same of you," said the sergeant, dismounting before him.
    "Reckon this cartographer of yours never celebrated Valentine's Day."
    McKay shrugged. "He ain't a cartographer of mine. I'm just the liaison. It's you he wants to see, Sully."
    Sully nodded thoughtfully, holding his striped Cheyenne poncho tight around himself in the cold morning wind.
    "I'm glad you accepted this task," added the sergeant fervently. "Your knowledge'll be invaluable to draw good military maps of this region. It's a way to patch up your relationship with the army. An' those maps'll be useful to everybody."
    Sully looked at him askance.
    "We need people like you," insisted McKay.
    Alison had jumped down from the wagon. "Hi, Sully. How's Katie? She looked as if she had a bit of a cold yesterday."
    He smiled. "Her Ma gave her some syrup for her throat. Much better this mornin'. Goin' shoppin'?"
    "Yes. Just stopped by to have a look at your guest. Will you have to go up in the mountains to work with him?"
    "Not right away, I believe. He already got his maps. We'll look 'em over together an' then do some checks."
    Horace looked out. "Watch out, ladies and gentlemen, there's the train!"
    A white column of smoke was approaching in the clanging of the wheels. The two men and the woman looked at the railway.
    McKay pulled out some papers from his belt, a little miffed. "My orders didn't provide a description."
    The native-looking man of the wilderness and the stalwart sergeant looked at each other. "Reckon we're hard to miss," said Sully.
    The train slowed down entering the station. Alison watched it, always fascinated. She wasn't much of a traveller, yet she loved to imagine where all the people went, where they came from. Sometimes she felt like she knew their story, when some little detail made total strangers inexplicably familiar to her. During her youth in Denver she had been deeply moved by the night trains, with their lights and their whistle which somehow seemed more distant, more haunting than by day.
    A face at the door passing in front of her cut short her reverie.
    It had gone by too fast to be sure, yet the vision had chilled her soul. Almost unconsciously she started moving along the railway, eyes fixed on that door. McKay and Sully still stood looking at the train, unaware of her worry. The wheels braked noisily, and the platform filled with smoke.
    As she walked, spying everyone who descended from the train, dodging the little crowd of relatives and friends, she bumped hard into someone.
    "Hey, why don't you... Oh, Mrs. McKay, excuse me."
    Alison straightened her bonnet. "It's you who must excuse me, Preston, I was careless," she said hastily, and tried to get around the banker.
    "Looking for somebody?" Preston asked conversationally.
    She didn't want to start chattering. "Not really. I just thought I recognised... Must have made a mistake."
    "I'm waiting for my new business partner," he said, glad to have found an audience. "This will be the beginning of my brilliant comeback."
    Alison couldn't care less. She only wanted to check if her irrational suspicion had any ground. That particular person couldn't be in Colorado Springs. It had to be a mistake.
    "By all means it is uplifting to see Sully on such good terms with your husband, after all that passed," went on Preston. "It makes you think nobody's beyond redemption, doesn't it?"
    Alison wondered idly if he referred to Sully's redemption or McKay's. Had it been another circumstance, she'd have inquired further, because she was interested in gauging the townspeople's opinion about her husband. She looked back at the two men who were still scanning the travellers. She turned to get rid of Preston, and met face to face with her past.
    Out of the smoke a man with a carpet bag had joined the banker, smiling. "Preston," he said, "I didn't know you were acquainted with my dear Allie. What an incredible coincidence!"
    Preston turned to look at him, dumbfounded. "You know this lady, Harmon?"
    "Sure." The man was no taller than her, thickset, handsome in an easy and engaging sort of way. "It's been five years - but you really look great, Allie. Even prettier than last time."
    Now that's interesting, noted Preston. He was used to watch his potential partners' behaviour when dealing with third parties. Harmon Fraser managed to be rude while paying - or appearing to - a compliment. Was he just careless or did he actually mean to offend her? Preston practised the art of compliments like a pro, and knew one should never imply a woman friend had been less good-looking than now in some circumstances. Moreover, he objected to the unbecoming nickname and the banality of "pretty" for a lady of acceptable natural charm, if not of perfect physical beauty, like Alison McKay.
    He also studied her reaction. She hadn't yet said a word. She looked hard at Harmon, clearly displeased about meeting him. Probably she was uncertain whether answering civilly - thus showing that he influenced in no possible way her well-being - or treating him with distaste. Harmon behaved a little flirtatiously. No sense of observation, Preston added to his private dossier. His prospective partner had not even noticed the shiny wedding ring at Alison's finger.
    Preston decided to make a little test. "My dear Harmon, I'm looking forward to hear the tale of how you met Mrs. McKay," he said pleasantly.
    For a moment, Harmon looked very much surprised. Then he smiled. "Mrs. McKay! Now that's an unexpected pleasure. My deepest congratulations, Allie." He held out a hand, but she kept her arms crossed under the plaid.
    Though censoring inwardly Alison's behaviour, Preston was forced to notice Harmon was really rude. An unexpected pleasure, indeed. As if in five years nobody would come to claim an interesting lady and her land. He decidedly needed to have a little talk with the man. Bad manners were very negative for business.
    Harmon was beginning to look uneasy under Alison's silence. "So, where is the lucky Mr. McKay?"
    "Right here," said a low voice behind him, with just a hint of menace in it. "An' it's Sergeant McKay."
    Harmon turned and looked up. Preston realised that McKay had been standing there long enough to hear their last three or four lines, and, being the quick man he was, he had already grasped the situation. This had to be reckoned with; in his first five minutes in Colorado Springs, Harmon Fraser had managed to alienate all the townsfolk he had met.
    However, McKay was no part of the townsfolk. And Alison had never truly been, either. Preston had no reason to worry.
    "Goin' to see Michaela," said Alison curtly, addressing her husband, then turned her back on the group and stalked away towards the clinic, the plaid fluttering behind her.
    McKay did not spare much more time in civilities. He nodded coldly and rejoined Sully, who had watched the exchange with folded arms, side by side with a small, bespectacled and rather disorientated man.
    
    They rode in silence on the path through the woods, headed towards Fort Lafayette.
    "This place is lovely," said Mr. Secombe tentatively, driving a small cart drawn by an old horse rented from Robert E, loaded with his maps and instruments. "Such trees... such grass."
    Sully acknowledged the burst of poetry with a half smile. McKay was riding a little further, hat pulled down to his nose and eyes fixed on the space between his horse's ears.
    "A lovely town, too." No answers. "All these cheerful and welcoming people. Such a friendly, warm atmosphere."
    Sully nodded at him. "'Scuse me a moment, sir." He pressed lightly his heels in his horse's sides and rode up to McKay. "What's the matter with ya," he enquired under his breath.
    "Nothin'."
    "Old flame of hers?"
    "None of your business."
    Sully nodded. "You wanna talk, you know where to find me anytime. But right now keep an eye on the poor fella there, or he'll say bad things of you back in Denver. Who knows what friends he may have upstairs."
    "Been to Washington a lot, lately, I gather," McKay said wryly.
    "Yeah. Beginnin' to learn how it goes. So try to be civil."
    The sergeant took a deep breath, nodded his thanks to him and reined in, letting the cartographer catch up with him. "Glad you like Colorado Springs, Mr. Secombe," he said with a friendly if tight smile. "If you wish, when you're rested we could have a small tour."
    Mr. Secombe broke into a large, childish grin. "I'd love to. They told me wonders of this town. The charm of the frontier. The romantic life of the cowboy. The excitement of the Gold Rush. I just can't wait."
    McKay and Sully traded a look. Were they talking about the same Colorado Springs? "Sure," said the sergeant, hoping the cartographer wouldn't be too disappointed.
    
    McKay got back home after dark, hurrying on the now-familiar track. The lights of Alison's farm appearing round the bend of the road always filled his heart with warmth. He dismounted before the porch, tied the horse to the banister and went in. Alison and Bella were sitting by the fire, reading fairy tales to the older lady's smallest girl. She was a little slow, and they had discovered she paid more attention if they dramatised the reading. She was sitting in Alison's lap, and Alison craned her neck to read on Bella's book. They looked up. "Evening, Sergeant," Bella greeted him.
    "Miss Bella," he answered, taking off his hat. He looked at Alison. She seemed so tender with the child on her knees. He took off his gloves too, careful not to drop the ring he had been wearing since Christmas. The cold made his hands dry and sometimes it tended to slip.
    "Time to go," said Bella, getting up. "Come, Polly." She took the child in her arms, wrapped her in a shawl and went out, with an expressive look at McKay.
    He nodded at her, then came in to kiss Alison. "Good news," he said, crouching down beside her. "They gave me tomorrow off, to make up for today. Secombe wants some rest. He ain't the mountain kind, was all sore after the ride."
    "Splendid," she said, taking his face in her hands. "I mean, sorry for him. Eat?"
    "No. Ate at the fort with Secombe."
    "Some milk and cookies?"
    "Yeah, that'll be fine." He placed a hand on her knee. "Everythin' all right?"
    "Sure."
    "Alison..."
    She smiled. "I'm all right, Terence. I feel - relieved. I spent so many years wondering what I'd do if I met him again. Whether I'd rip his liver out. Well, I met him, and I'm not in Daniel's cell. Preston's latest wacky plan to get back to stardom just solved a five-year-old problem for me."
    She sounded so reassuring. He could not forget the hurt in her eyes when she had seen Harmon that morning. But maybe it was just the surprise. She probably had spent some time nagging about it with Dr. Quinn and had vented it out.
    She gently caressed his face, running a thumb on his lips and making him shiver deep inside. "Are you all right?"
    He nodded. If she was, then he could be too. He patted her knee and got up. "Gotta tend to the horse. Ah, Alison, 'fraid the cat started after me. If he scratches at the door, put out a bowl of milk."
    She smiled. "I'll help you with the horse." She got up and placed an arm about his waist, grabbing the plaid on her way out. "This thing's so warm. Can I borrow it tomorrow too?"
    "As long as you keep your hands off my kilt," he answered, deadpan.
    "I will, unless you're wearing it," she said in the same tone.

    As the morning sun got warmer, Corporal Winters covered at a gallop the distance between Michaela's homestead and Alison's farm. He was in a very bad mood, he'd not had his breakfast and he saw trouble ahead. He turned the bend and slowed down, approaching the fence.
    A labourer was digging a hole on the perimeter to replace a pole.
    "You there!" Winters called out. "Is Sgt. McKay at home?"
    The man lifted his face and pushed his hair away from his forehead. "Hello there, Winters," he answered.
    It was Sgt. McKay, wearing denim trousers and a red-and-white checked shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He put down the shovel and came to greet Winters. The young man would rather he'd given him the shovel, to dig a very deep hole and bury himself in it.
    "Sir, sorry, Sergeant. Colonel Marlowe sent me to fetch you. Mr. Secombe would like you to show him around the town. Sir."
    "Me?"
    "Sir, you an' Sully, sir. Tried to dump him on Sully but he says he wants you too. Sir."
    "Winters, stop that. Reckon you never see me out of uniform. An' I'd hate to get back into it right now."
    Alison came out on the porch drying her hands in a towel and waved at Winters.
    "Afternoon, ma'am," he called. Then he turned back to McKay. "Won't be necessary, Sergeant. Colonel says it's an informal matter."
    McKay sighed. "Well, I s'pose I deserve it, after treatin' the man like hell yesterday. Let me get a clean shirt, Winters. I'll be with you in a moment."
    He got back into the house. "Trouble?" asked Alison, putting down the vegetables.
    "Secombe," he answered eloquently. He went into their room, pulling off his sweaty shirt.
    She followed him. McKay had a swift wash-down in the bowl by the bed, ran his wet hands through his hair, dried and then rummaged in the cabinet.
    "You were to return to the fort tonight, anyway," she said, trying to take it lightly.
    He got out a carefully folded white flannel shirt, a present from her. He concentrated in unbuttoning the cuffs. "Sure, tonight," he said at last, looking at her, letting his disappointment surface. Knowing it could be a bad mistake, she came up to him and embraced him. He let the shirt fall on the bed and closed his arms around her. Her hands smelled of celery, but the skin of her neck retained the scent of the jasmine soap she managed to get from time to time at Loren's store. She stroked his cheek as he kissed her, letting her hand fall down his neck and along the side of his chest until it slipped behind his bare back to meet her other hand. They had spent a delightful night together, even better that the one before. Alison had felt the need to assure him of a petty but very basic fact among human animals - that Harmon had known nothing about how to please a woman. The Valentine night had been very romantic, but this one had been all about wild passion and letting loose. There were moments she didn't remember what she was doing or where, though always keenly aware of who with. She felt like she had been plunged into a dark and pleasantly mysterious pit. She was even a little scared, she didn't know why. Towards morning she had waken up, startled by something, a sound maybe - but he was there, ready to pull her more tightly against him and get back to sleep.
    She came back to the present when his mouth parted from hers. He let go of her before she started purring, or it would have been really impossible to join that obnoxious Secombe. He moved back one step, looking at her in wonder, a small smile coming and going on his lips - he leaned in once again to give her a peck on the cheek, then turned and put on his shirt.
    
    By six p.m. they were all bored stiff. Except for Secombe, of course. He had wanted to see everything, from the church to the library. The grand finale had been a tour from the outside of Preston's former house, bought by a cattle raiser with a herd of children who still hadn't gone to live in it. Sully was beginning to hate himself for having mentioned it to Secombe. Besides being a cartographer, he had architectural aspirations, and had questioned him about all the most irrelevant details. McKay had almost fallen asleep on the steps, wrapped up in a big old leather jacket with woollen lining he had kept for days off and never used much. Corporal Winters had long since fled, in pursuit of a crucial and utterly fictitious errand, Sully was sure.
    "Well, this was all very interesting," enthused Secombe, as Sully studiously avoided to look at McKay, lest one of them should burst out laughing disrespectfully. "Now, how about something lighter?"
    The sergeant turned his head from where he was sitting. "What do you mean, sir?"
    The little man winked broadly. "You surely know. Some distraction. Some... life."
    "I see," said Sully. The man was a fox, for all his innocuous appearances. "You mean the Gold Nugget."
    "Gotta go back to the fort by dinner time," said McKay sternly.
    So that's where Winters learned to make up fanciful excuses, Sully noted. Nobody had said anything about dinner.
    "Oh, come on, Sergeant. Just to have a look at this landmark of entertainment."
    "All right," he said, getting up and dusting his pants. "Just a look."
    They rode back to town in the falling dusk. The Gold Nugget's lighted windows were indeed alive with music and laughter. It seemed a riotous evening. Just what they needed, thought Sully. Secombe's eyes were shining with excitement.
    "Let's just drop in briefly," said McKay. "It gets rather rough when it's like that."
    "Good!" said Secombe.
    They pushed the doors and got in. The clamour settled a bit as the partying customers paused to look at the newcomers. Hank nodded diffidently at them. Matthew was there too, a book open on the table, talking to a man who clearly needed his lawman's expertise. Some girls eyed interestedly the two unusual customers and giggled to each other when they saw the beaming Secombe. Oblivious to it all, the little cartographer opened his way to the bar.
    The crowd parted and there in the middle of it stood Harmon.
    "Just look who's come to see us," he called, waving a glass at them. His cheeks were shining, and he appeared as though he needed to wash his hair. "Sergeant McKay and his half-breed buddy."
    Somebody snickered. Hank did too, but his eyes remained cold. Matthew looked offended and on the verge of getting up from his seat.
    "All right, this does it," decided Sully, smelling trouble. "Let's get out of here." He looked around in the heavy, smoky air. Where had Secombe gone? Then he saw him at the bar.
    "Mr. Secombe," McKay called. The customers had returned to their carousing, and his voice got lost. The sergeant strode forward, and Sully followed him.
    "Have a glass, McKay?" said Harmon. "It's on me."
    "No, thanks. Mr. Secombe -"
    The cartographer turned, confused. "What's the matter?"
    "Come on, stay a little with us," Harmon entreated him.
    "We're late," answered McKay flatly.
    Harmon smiled. "Of course you're late. We've already had all the fun. But then again, you always arrive too late for the fun, eh, Sergeant McKay?"
    "Stop that, Mr. Fraser," said Sully grimly. The man was drunk enough not to see that McKay was looking at him with eyes like glowing embers, eyebrows as pulled down as to be nearly invisible. Sully turned to the sergeant. "Now, McKay..."
    Without even looking at him, he shook Sully's hand from his arm and kept staring at Harmon. "You take it back," he whispered. "Take back what you said this very moment."
    Hank and the other customers were looking uncomprehendingly from one to the other. Harmon took another swig from his glass. "Take it back, McKay? I don't think so. Ain't no remedy for that. Time can't flow backwards, can it? 'Fraid not."
    McKay lashed out and hit him in the face with the back of his hand. Harmon's head snapped sideways and the bourbon spilled on his jacket.
    "Not in here!" shouted Hank. "Get outside if ya wanna fight!"
    Sully grabbed McKay's arm. "Use your reason, man," he said under his breath.
    Harmon put down the empty glass and checked his face for blood. "Nice hit, McKay," he blurted out, "pity it's useless. There's not a thing you can do about it. Not even if you kill me."
    The sergeant, taller and heavier than Sully, managed brusquely to free his arm and in so doing shoved the latter into a nearby table, cards and girls scattering all over the place. Harmon had taken an unsteady boxer's stance. "Hey - " shouted Hank just as McKay passed clean through Harmon's guard and slammed his right fist into the man's face. Harmon flew backward, hit the bar in a shattering of glasses, careened and ended into the arms of some customers who kept him once again on his feet. Secombe just stood there, fascinated.
    Matthew ran to Sully, who had not suffered any damage and was straightening his jacket. Sully gave him a reassuring gesture. Just how stupid are they both? he thought, trying to reach them amid people scuttling to get away and others who were thronging to see, shouting and cheering, mostly for Harmon. The man grabbed a chair and swirled it at McKay, who ducked, letting it crash into the bar. The wooden fragments shattered some bottles, barely missing the mirror. Hank took out a sawed-off gun hidden under the bar. The sergeant sprung forward and tackled Harmon at the waist, sending him on the floor, then struggling to get at the chair leg the man was still waving drunkenly. Hank pointed his gun to the ceiling and fired.
    The resounding shot did not stop the two fighters, but it frightened the customers and Sully was able to push through. McKay had got hold of the broken chair leg and was holding it inches from Harmon's face, barely held back by the man. Sully grabbed the sergeant by the shoulders and pulled him up by main force, trying to disarm him. To his distress, the dumb drunken bastard Harmon got up too and resumed his childish fighting stance. McKay threw at him the chair leg, missing him because of Sully's intervention and shattering a window.
    Hank pointed the gun directly at McKay. "Now cool down, will ya?" he bellowed.
    Sully let go of the sergeant. Hank looked ready, if not to kill him, at least to shoot him in the thigh just to prove his point. McKay relaxed, lowering his head as if to check his clothes for damage. Then turned and knocked Harmon out with a sharp bone-cracking blow. The man crumpled to his knees.
    Undeterred, McKay bent and grabbed him by the lapels.
    Sully placed himself between him and Harmon, pushing him away. "For the last time, Terence, stop that."
    Finally the sergeant seemed to recognize his existence. "Leave me alone, Sully," he warned savagely. "It ain't your -"
    Sully threw him a left punch in the face which left McKay standing with an astonished look. Then he hit him again with a straight right, sending him to fall noisily back among the chairs. Dazed, caught utterly off guard, McKay tried to get up again. A pitiless Sully was on him, grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and smashed him hard against the floor, knocking all breath out of him. "Had enough?" he hissed. "Or shall I go on?"
    McKay shook his head and lifted his hands in surrender. He could not utter a word.
    Somebody fired another shot, not Hank's gun, rather a Colt. Daniel appeared in the crowd, followed by Matthew and Jake. "Now, everybody stop - Sully? Sgt. McKay? What -"
    Sully put himself back on his feet. McKay drew himself up in a sitting position, shaking his head and touching his face.
    "Were you two involved in this uproar?" Daniel asked incredulously.
    "Yep," answered Sully, massaging his own hand. He held it out and helped McKay up.
    "Who started this?"
    "He did," Hank said furiously, pointing at the still glowering McKay.
    "That ain't true," countered Sully. "Harmon Fraser provoked him."
    "Where's he now?"
    Sully nodded at the crowd. "Somewhere over there. Needs a doctor."
    "All right," said Daniel. "Jake, have somebody carry him to your shop an' fetch Michaela. I'll take care of these two." He made a gesture with the pistol towards the door. "I'm sorry."
    "It's your job," said Sully. He went out, followed by McKay.
    Jake reached Harmon, sitting on the floor beside the bar. He pointed at somebody to get him up and threw a glance at Hank. "This place looks like hell."
    Hank lowered his gun on the bar, scowling. "It's just the beginnin'," he said menacingly.
    
    Alison rode in fast, dismounting before the sheriff's office. Just at that moment, Michaela was coming out of the barber shop, walking towards her.
    "Robert E came to tell me," Alison said. "How's everybody?"
    "I've just fixed up Mr. Fraser," Michaela answered, a little bewildered. "Come, let's have a look at those two."
    The ladies entered the prison and found Daniel sitting at his desk, quite angry, and their men behind bars.
    McKay's left eye was beginning to turn purple. He sat morosely on the bench, and lifted on Alison a smouldering gaze, barely tempered by tenderness. At a glance he looked like the one most in need of treatment. She swallowed her rage, just for the moment. Sully sat quietly on the floor, cross-legged. He got up when he saw them.
    Michaela approached the bars and gave them a good look. "Daniel, please," she called. She took out a cloth and a bottle from her bag and handed them to Alison. "Put this on the bruises," she instructed her. The bottle felt chilly in her hands.
    Daniel opened the cell and let Alison in to sit beside McKay. He looked at her without remorse. She poured some of the liniment on the cloth. "It's cold, I warn you," she said, patting gently around his eye. He flinched, then kept still. She thought she felt his hurt, and slid a hand behind his neck to hold his head and feel him closer. She was grateful for the others' presence, but also a little embarrassed.
    "Why did you do it?" she said softly. "I told you I didn't care."
    He sat straight-backed, unyielding. Alison wouldn't have imagine he could do something like that. She knew he had understood it was not her problem anymore. She'd just not been able to predict how much of a problem it was for him.
    "How's Fraser?" Sully asked Michaela, holding her hands through the bars.
    "No broken bones," she said.  "He's tougher than he looks."
    McKay looked ever so slightly relieved. Alison felt him lean on the wall. She tended to the lighter bruise under the right cheekbone, and was reminded of the Reverend's talk before their marriage. He had insisted that they find something they seriously didn't like about each other. She should have told him about this. She already knew how McKay clammed up when something worried him. That night before the Red Needle, had she not been the first to bring up the topic, she'd never have known his unhappiness in leaving her, the depths of his desire for her. They wouldn't have loved each other, and maybe he wouldn't have found in himself the will to come back to her.
    But now McKay was there, looking at her with softening eyes as she closed the bottle and pushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. And even if she had told the Rev about it, it wouldn't have deterred her from marrying him and loving him with all of herself.
    "Daniel," said Michaela, "what's the bail?"
    Alison hadn't thought of that. It was the first time she had to get someone out of jail. "Michaela, got little money with me, can you -"
    "Mrs. McKay," Daniel objected, "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. The sergeant's bail is much higher than Sully's. He did start it all."
    Alison sighed. It made sense, alas.
    "Sheriff Simon," McKay said. "I'm due to Fort Lafayette tonight. I don't show up, it'll be neglect of duty."
    "I'll take care of that," said Alison. "Michaela, at least you can get Sully out."
    "I'm stayin'," Sully said, looking at his wife. "I'm in it too."
    Michaela nodded, tightening her grip on his fingers, then let him go. Alison looked at him, surprised. She turned to McKay and kissed his forehead. "Back tomorrow." She was so sorry to leave him. He let the hand he had slipped around her waist fall on the bench. She got up and Daniel held the cell door open for her, then closed it with a clang and turned the keys.
    
    Preston led Harmon inside the bank building, where he had resumed living since he had sold the house built by Sully. The man walked steadily enough and refused any help. They entered the hall and the banker threw his coat on a chair, lighting a lantern. Harmon began pawing at the locked cupboards. "Got anything to drink?"
    "No," Preston answered coldly. "At least you could have picked a fight with someone your size. You're an idiot, Harmon."
    "Mind your language, Preston," said Harmon irritated, flopping into an armchair.
    "No, you're right, you're not an idiot, you're a fool." The banker started walking up and down. "I've been wondering about this for two days. Definitely, a small world! Here you come to make business, in the very same place your ex-fiancée moved to five years ago after you left her."
    "Allie's got nothing to do..."
    "Hasn't she now? If I remember correctly our first meeting in Boston last winter, I held no interest whatsoever for you until you heard the name Colorado Springs mentioned. You thought you could kill two birds with a stone and make business while getting back your fiancée."
    "Farfetched."
    "Less than believing it's just a coincidence."
    Harmon got up. "Maybe there's something you don't quite grasp, Preston. I don't need to kill birds. I'm not the one who needs money. You are. I'm here to get richer. If this does not work, I'm out of it. Or better, I'll tell you: I'm out of it right now."
    The banker backed off at once. He held up his hands and flashed a toothsome smile. "Now, Harmon, let's not be excessive. Let's talk about it."
    "Very well," said Harmon, with a glint in his eye. "I want McKay out of this town by tomorrow. It's him or me. He stays, I'm gone."
    "We'll fix that easily," said the banker, relieved.
    Harmon nodded. "Deal." He yawned, then grimaced for the pain in his jaw. Shaking his head, he turned and went for the stairs to the guest room.
    Preston snorted and slicked back his hair, frowning. He produced the keys of the cupboard and poured himself a half inch of brandy, sitting down in the armchair. The man was right: he, Preston A. Lodge, III, was the weaker one in the transaction. He had to be content with what he got, even though Harmon was an utter liar as far as Alison was concerned. Preston's experience in the politics of marriage was next to nil, but if he looked at the situation from a proprietor's point of view it was as clear as his vintage brandy. Harmon had had second thoughts, yet he'd utterly disposed of any concern towards the other party. Had he written, had he come back before that hunky cavalryman appeared on the scene, maybe he would have stood some chances. Maybe not. But surely he'd have spared himself some delusions. No, he had treated Alison as a piece of land. Nobody would expect a meadow to look around and decide to change hands all by itself. A handsome, bright and resourceful lady like Alison, instead... For a moment, Preston thought he knew exactly the depths of Harmon's disappointment. Then he shook away that wistful thought. A low-class, ill-mannered farmer, past her prime too, and full of debts, he corrected himself.
    Back to Harmon. Had the man admitted he was working at cross purposes, Preston would not have approved the mixing of business and heart, yet he would have understood. A little locker-room talk had never hurt anyone. Men were men. Instead Harmon had kept it to himself. What else was he keeping to himself? Now that he was thinking about it, how devious had Harmon been in dealing with Alison? And even if he were sincere, he was absolutely unable to have a civil relationship with anyone. How could Preston trust him?
    He downed his brandy and sneered cynically. How could he trust anybody? How could anybody trust Preston himself? What amount of double-talk had he sowed around all his life? Business is business. He would milk Harmon for what he was worth and get rid of him, as he'd always done, before the opposite happened.
    He went to bed haunted by the thought of another world, one where men fought for their ladies, and women were worth travelling miles and miles to see. He fell in an uncomfortable dream in which he was in the saloon giving a good thrashing to Harmon, disturbed even in his sleep by how good that felt.
    
    The door of the sheriff's office creaked open and Daniel came back in a gust of cold wind after seeing the ladies off: Michaela headed home, and Alison to the fort. He went back to his post and sat down, feet on the desk. "Now try to be quiet, you two," he said, and pulled his hat over his eyes.
    Sully sat on the floor, back to the wall, forearms on his knees. "What did you think you were doin', McKay?" he said in a low voice.
    "You heard him!" answered the sergeant. "You heard what he said to me."
    By then Sully had placed enough pieces together to have a very precise picture, and McKay seemed to assume as much. "Yes, I heard him. What's it to you, or to Alison?"
    The sergeant refused to answer.
    "Let me tell you somethin' I learned, mostly from Preston," Sully said. "If somebody picks senselessly on you, you must ask yourself this: Why is he afraid of me? What've I got that he hasn't got? How am I better 'n him? It'll all get clearer."
    "Sully," McKay said slowly, barely controlling himself, "Alison had put so many hopes in him, so many dreams. By leavin' her he crushed 'em, he crushed her whole life."
    "He did not!" shot back Sully. "Otherwise I wouldn't be sittin' here in this darn prison with you."
    "But she went through hell before! All those years alone. I know it, even though she never talks about it. She plays tough, but she needs a lotta reassurance. I'm glad to give it to her, it's mutual, but I know what's behind it! You shoulda seen her - you did see her yesterday mornin', when she met him. All that hatred an' disgust in her eyes. Just for this, I'd kill him. I can't stand the idea of him doin' this to anybody, much less my woman!"
    Daniel lifted the brim of his hat. "Listen, folks, somebody here's tryin' to sleep, all right?"
    Sully looked at him. "Go home and leave us the key, we'll mind the store."
    "Shut up," grumbled the sheriff, pulling down his hat again.
    Sully got on his feet and went to sit on the bench beside McKay. "There's a story you may not have heard yet," he began, very low. "Some years before meetin' Michaela, I married Abigail, Loren's daughter. We had a baby girl, but things went wrong during delivery an' I lost 'em both."
    McKay stared at him, appalled, while some things suddenly clicked together. The tombstones in the cemetery, for example. Abigail Sully?... "I'm sorry. I didn't imagine - I guess that's worse than anythin'."
    "That ain't my point. I don't like classifyin' pain. What I mean is, I got over it, yet sometimes I still think about 'em, an' suffer. I don't think I'll ever forget that pain. An' Michaela knows it. She's had her share of sorrow, she knows that sometimes I just have to remember, to acknowledge it. This doesn't interfere with the love we have for each other. It makes it even deeper. Can you see this?"
    McKay nodded slowly.
    "Let's try to sleep, now," concluded Sully. "Somethin' tells me tomorrow you'll have a busy day."

    McKay opened his eyes after a fitful night of sleep on the bench, with his rolled-up coat as a cushion. He turned and saw Sully wrapped up in his blanket, resting calmly on the floor, head pillowed on one arm. Daniel was not at his place. He threw down his legs and sat up stiffly, stretching.
    The door swung open on the greyish road in the dawn. The sheriff came in with Michaela and took the keys. "Wake up, Sully," he said. "You're out."
    Sully straightened up at once. "How 'bout him?" he drawled.
    Daniel looked at McKay with concern. "Council's gonna vote on his banishment from Colorado Springs."
    "What?!" said McKay, rising. "For beatin' up Fraser?"
    "Preston proposed the motion," said the sheriff, letting Sully out and closing the cell door again. "You'd be able to keep on livin' in your wife's home, of course," he added.
    "How thoughtful," McKay said sarcastically.
    Daniel shook his head with a dry smile. "Listen, this is all between us townsfolk. No judge, nothin'. A lotta people are on your side." He exchanged a look with Sully, who nodded.
    "We'll get the Council to reject Preston's motion," said Michaela. "Then, if Fraser is still furious with you, Daniel will give you a fine and be done with it."
    McKay thought about it. He didn't like the word "fine" in this context. Refunding Hank would already mean giving up a prosperous month's savings. Fraser would surely be even more exigent. Maybe Daniel could obtain to convert the fine in some more time in jail. But then he would lose days at the fort and...
    Alison came into the office. She went to McKay and put her hands on the bars, close to his. "That fool Secombe spilled the story all over the fort," she said, "but Colonel Marlowe sends this message to you. Report in today before noon and everything's forgotten. As far as the garrison's concerned, you can do what you bloody well like when you're out of uniform." She cleared her throat, looking very ladylike as she pushed a curl behind her ear. "His words."
    "Maybe it won't show up on my record," McKay answered bitterly, "but he'll give me a hard time for it." He could just picture it. Searches in the woods to discover where the telegraph wire had been broken, special shifts supervising the latrines' cleanup and no days off for the Lord knew how long. This was what chagrined him most.
    Brian ran in breathlessly. "Daniel, Sgt. McKay, they want you in the church," he said. "The hearing's about to begin."
    Alison looked disconsolate, but there was no reproach in her eyes. That good heart of hers. McKay felt miserable for having made her unhappy, for having been so unwise as to believe he was doing her justice. He should have controlled himself. He always should. As Daniel opened the door she made a move towards him, then stopped.
    The sheriff took a pair of handcuffs from the wall.
    "Why?" asked Alison, offended.
    McKay himself answered. "Regulations."
    
    When they reached the church, it was already full. Word of mouth had got around quickly. The Town Council was seated at one end of the room, with an empty place left for Michaela and a chair for McKay to one side. Alison remained at the back, uneasy under the stares. She found herself side by side with Cloud Dancing, who smiled comfortingly to her - she thought he was still up North with his tribe, but then again he tended to show up for all local celebrations. A man offered her his place on the bench, but she refused. Sully stopped on her other side. In the first row, Harmon turned and looked at her. She stared him down.
    As Michaela took her place beside Robert E, McKay sat down in his chair, with Daniel standing behind him.
    "Who's that nice young man in the white shirt?" asked a neat old lady sitting before Alison, peering through the crowd.
    Sully bent down to whisper in her ear. "It's Sergeant McKay, ma'am, you surely know him."
    "Oh yes," she said, everything suddenly clearer. "He looked larger in his uniform."
    In the centre of the table, Jake got up. "Quiet, everybody. We're here to decide whether Sgt. McKay should be banned from the town of Colorado Springs. He's accused of beatin' up Mr. Fraser an' tearin' down Hank's saloon. Someone wants to say somethin' about the accusations?"
    "Look inside the Gold Nugget an' see for yourselves," said Hank with a shrug.
    Preston rose. "Thank you, Mayor." He turned to the townsfolk. "I'm taking Mr. Fraser's part, since I am better known by this Council. Some of you may not have been present yesterday evening at the saloon -"
    "An' neither were you," pointed out Sully, aloud.
    "Fraser was," retorted Preston. "I am speaking for him."
    "I was there too," added Hank, sitting at Jake's side. "An' there's only one thing I'd like to know from these two. All Fraser did was tell McKay he was late, an' McKay went berserk. What the hell was it all about?"
    Alison stiffened. To her surprise, not only McKay did not say a word, but neither did Harmon. It seemed the only one able to understand exactly what had been going on was Sully, who had been present both at the station and in the saloon, and could put the pieces together. And maybe Preston. All the others had no idea that Alison even knew who Harmon was. She relaxed a little.
    "I can only surmise it was a personal matter," said Preston pleasantly. A shred of chivalrousness, surely stemmed from the fact that it was free of charge. "Maybe they were in the army together during the war, who can say. Mr. Fraser was a little merry and was undoubtedly imprudent to bring up unpleasant memories in a rude way, and then keep provoking Sgt. McKay. Yet Sgt. McKay has no excuses for thrashing him."
    "An' wreckin' my place," Hank reminded them.
    The audience murmured appreciatively.
    "Your place been wrecked other times," said Robert E. "An' nobody's ever been banned."
    Jake turned towards him. "You suddenly an Army lover?"
    "No," answered the blacksmith flatly. "I just don't like all this talk of bannin' people."
    "Jake," enquired Michaela, "is McKay the accused, or is it the Army?"
    "The Army always protected us," said Loren, perplexed.
    Hank nodded at Jake. "The Army always been on our back, nothin' else. Ate our food, laid their hands on our girls..." He shot a look at Alison, who just lifted her chin. Hank knew perfectly well what she was capable of when somebody annoyed her. He nodded gallantly and went on. "... an' never were of any use. Did they ever prevent the Dog Soldiers from comin' into town? An' remember whose place those devils blew up last time? I'm tired of bein' the one who gets caught in the middle!"
    People nodded and agreed. "The town was always in tumult while they were here," considered Horace.
    "Yeah," admitted Loren. "Quarrels everywhere an' nobody was safe."
    "The situation was much more complicated than this," objected Michaela. "The town was in tumult because of many grave factors. And surely none of them was Sgt. McKay."
    "He was the commander," said Jake. "A commander's always responsible for the actions or inactions of his men. That's the Army."
    McKay had not said a word till then, watching them with his hands locked together and his head tilted as if he were the audience. At those words he slowly turned to Jake. "Has any of you ever been remotely connected with the Army or the war? Just curious."
    Jake met his eyes. "I didn't take part in the war, all right," he answered coldly. "I was out here, buildin' the territories, an' so were most respected citizens of Colorado Springs. We did our duty, Sergeant, an' we earned the right to be here judgin' you. But if you think you ain't judged fairly, then defend yourself."
    He nodded at Daniel. The sheriff patted McKay's shoulder, granting him permission to rise.
    McKay did so. "Don't have much to say in my defence. I shouldn't have beaten up Fraser an' crashed your furniture, Mr. Lawson. I'm ready to pay back everybody. But bein' banned from the town is excessive. It'll be uncomfortable for my wife." Alison's eyes misted over. Colorado Springs had never really been her town, but now it was their town. They were beginning to have their sweet little hoard of memories related to the place. She was always so happy to go to the church or the store with him. And though she was able to do most chores on her own, it was nice to have a man's arms ready when she loaded the wagon. "An' I gotta tell you somethin' which won't impress you much, but for me it's very important. I was proud to be here an' try to make myself useful, two years ago, even though it doesn't seem to have been very appreciated. I always liked this town very much. Pity it ain't mutual." He sat back.
    Alison sighed. No talker today, her husband. The audience grumbled.
    "It ain't true," piped up Dorothy, rising. "I like you."
    "We didn't know this, Dorothy," said Jake ironically. "You're widenin' your circle."
    She froze him with a look. "I mean, I'm thankful for all you did, Sergeant. Cloud Dancin' would be dead without you. An' so would Black Moon's people."
    McKay looked at her with gratitude, but the uneasiness of the townsfolk did not quiet down. It was Hank who expressed it loudly. "Is this an argument for or against Sgt. McKay? I hear there are new Injun troubles up North. Prob'ly your friends makin' up for lost time."
    "That's just presumin'," burst out McKay. "You can't say it's the Cheyenne."
    "You can't say it ain't."
    There was approval at these words. "Yeah." "Sure." "Them's dangerous." "Let 'em go without a word, he did." Alison felt horribly for Cloud Dancing, but he seemed untouched by all that. Matthew, who stood a little to the side, tried to calm down the most agitated.
    "I think he did what he had to," said Grace firmly, looking around with her baby on her knees.
    "He's a good man," added the Reverend. By his side, Teresa looked doubtful, and so did Horace.
    Jake looked around, uncertain. "Anybody else got somethin' to say?"
    "I have," said Sully aloud, beside Alison. She looked at him, startled. Even Michaela was surprised. McKay looked curious.
    Jake motioned him to come forward. Sully shook his head and leaned back against the wooden wall, arms crossed. "It ain't much, an' I can talk from here." Indeed his voice carried perfectly to the end of the room, as the townsfolk nudged each other and fell silent. What would Sully say of his old enemy?
    "I don't really get it," Sully began calmly, looking around. "When Michaela came here, you slighted an' distrusted her 'cause she was a woman doin' a man's job, and doin' it well. Now she sits on the Council. Good. You used your reason. What about Grace and Robert E? Some of you behaved in a way that should make you ashamed to this day." Jake looked at the table. Loren stared at Sully, positively chagrined. Hank got suddenly interested in the woodwork of the ceiling. "Now Robert E sits on the Council too. What of your diffidence towards the Mexican immigrants? Miss Teresa, with respect, ma'am, is now the Mayor's wife. An' your hatred towards Indians doesn't prevent Cloud Dancin' from livin' in peace among us when he wishes."
    Alison noticed that he hadn't mentioned himself.
    "Your point, Sully?" asked Jake.
    Sully shrugged. "Every time seems you gotta do it all again from the start. Somebody comes from another world, wears unusual clothes and doesn't have the same ideas as you, maybe even has somethin' to say with you at the beginnin' - in a word, someone who's different, well, it's always the same story with you, you try to wipe him off. Maybe this makes you feel more united, maybe it's even good for the town, I don't know. But it sure is weird."
    He fell silent. The townsfolk started discussing lowly among themselves.
    McKay exchanged a warm, rueful look with him. Alison turned. "Thank you, Sully."
    He shook his head. "I told the truth. So I don't think I helped him."
    People were pondering Sully's words, but the bottom of it seemed that his support did not speak in McKay's favour. All he had said could be true, however it seemed there was a particular outsider the townsfolk had not made up its mind about yet - Sully himself. Alison heard the discussion shift from Sully to McKay as if nobody had said anything.
    Grace, Dorothy and the Reverend struggled to make their voice heard. They were met by a chorus of "He ain't one of us." "We know nothin' of him!" The balance seemed to be still in equilibrium, no wonder that Jake stared at his citizens with a concerned look. Some began to get more vocal and rise from their seats. Matthew tried to make them sit down again.
    "Quiet!" shouted Jake slamming his hand on the table, to no avail.
    "Sully's right," contributed Daniel, trying to sedate the racket. "All of us need to know each other, at first. Sgt. McKay got every right to be here like any of us. Tell 'em, Matthew."
    Alison saw Michaela shoot a warning look at the sheriff, too late. Matthew turned. "Tell 'em what?"
    "You've been silent all this time. You know how much we value your opinion."
    Alison wasn't surer than Daniel about what was going on. There was a hush as the audience waited for the words of the young ex-sheriff. "Well, then," he said with a shrug, "my opinion is, get rid of him."
    "Matt!" Michaela exclaimed. Many looked at each other, nodded and agreed loudly.
    McKay lifted his eyes, hurt but not really surprised. "Why?" he asked. The young man all but ignored him.
    "Leave it at that, Sergeant," said Jake. "Matt's a devil in debatin'."
    "No, this has been goin' on long enough," insisted McKay, earnestly. "Why do you hate me so much, Matthew?"
    Everybody stared. "You ain't puttin' your head into the noose," said Jake glumly, "you're buildin' your own scaffold an' hirin' the hangman yourself."
    Slowly, Matthew turned his eyes on McKay. He approached the Council table. "You really have no clue?" he said.
    "No!"
    Matthew looked down on him still seated. "How does it feel to be the hunted, Sgt. McKay?"
    "What do you mean?" he asked, softly.
    "It's in the Bible, Sergeant. An eye for an eye. Though I don't believe you'll ever suffer as much as Sully did, or his family."
    "Matt," called Sully, "you can bet me an' McKay are even." The sergeant exchanged with him a lopsided smirk.
    "All the better for you, Sully," Matthew told him. "Now it's between us."
    "I did all I could for him," said McKay resolutely.
    "Oh yeah," the young man answered with heavy sarcasm, "in due time. He was in hidin' for almost eight months, from May to December. Only in August did you show some interest in his case, an' just 'cause you made Dr. Mike beg you."
    "Beg me?!" McKay almost rose from his chair. "She'd never beg anyone!"
    "Stop that, Matthew," called Michaela, appalled.
    "An' all the while, my father was grievously wounded. He needed to be treated in a clinic, to be kept safe. He coulda died or lost his leg."
    Alison always did a small double-take when Matthew called Sully "father". She saw them on equal terms. And yet she knew there were some fifteen years between them, and with a little effort Sully could have been Matthew's father. So could McKay, for that matter. Which was something he never depended on for authority, much less now. All he did was sit there and let a 24-year-old lad yell at him.
    "I was just..."
    "You were just what, Sergeant?" spat out Matthew.
    "No. I take back the just. I was followin' my orders. I felt good followin' them, at the beginnin'. Then I began suspectin' it wasn't right. Then I was afraid of it. Then I knew it. An' I didn't lose a second to run to Denver an' begin workin' for Sully's pardon. When I told in Major Morrison's face what I thought of him, I didn't stop to argue with myself."
    "So you'd like to be called a hero," said Matthew bitterly.
    McKay took a deep breath, briefly pressing his eyelids together. "Stop turnin' around whatever I say, Matthew. I ain't no hero. Did my best, just like everybody else. An' if I look about me now an' see the way it turned out, I'm satisfied. It was hard, but everybody came out safe."
    Matthew nodded and smiled in a dangerous way. "Yeah, sure," he said bitterly. "Everybody came out safe." He leaned in and whispered something in McKay's ear. They saw the sergeant whiten.
    "Matthew!" called out Michaela shrilly, outraged. At Alison's side, Sully started, too.
    "Speak up, Matt," Jake warned him. "We couldn't hear you."
    The young man straightened up. "Shut it, Jake," he said tiredly, "this ain't a tribunal." He turned, himself a little shaken, and got back to his place.
    Everybody was left wondering what could McKay have done, the mere mention of which had shocked him so much. He had leaned back in the chair and was staring into nothing, a terrible look of pain in his eyes. He made a half gesture to lift his manacled hands, then let them fall back in his lap. Alison was horrified at the level of hatred they had focussed on him. She could feel it reverberating in her, building up like a scream.
    "Anybody got anythin' else to say?" asked Jake quietly.
    "Jake," said Michaela in a wavering voice, "you understand that what you heard was Matt's personal opinion. Does it count for nothing that Sully and I, the main parties concerned in this matter, have utterly acquitted Sgt. McKay of any responsibility?"
    It was Loren who answered. "You're a good an' forgivin' person, Dr. Mike," he said, shaking his head.
    There was a long moment of silence. "The Council will vote," said Jake at last. "Who's in favour of bannin' Sgt. McKay from Colorado Springs?"
    Hank rose his hand first. Jake followed him, then, reluctantly, Loren. A murmur of approval came from the audience.
    Michaela hit the table with a frustrated gesture, and Robert E traded a bitter look with her.
    "That's settled," concluded Jake. "Sheriff, take him back to the prison, give him back his things an' set him on his way."
    Alison vaguely felt Sully patting her shoulder. She hoped nobody addressed her with false sympathy. She didn't want to do or say things she could be sorry for afterwards.
    "Are you all right, Alison?" asked Cloud Dancing.
    She nodded. "I'd just like to stay here a moment," she said.
    
    As Daniel took McKay away and the townsfolk began filing out, Preston approached the Council table, arm extended. "Good work, Jake," he said, pleased.
    Jake didn't take his hand. "This was a matter of personal revenges, Preston. I ain't proud of myself."
    Harmon came up to the table too. "You should be, Mayor. You spoke for all the town."
    Jake turned on him coldly. "An' you ain't got the guts to speak for yourself, Fraser. You hid behind Preston. The way I see it, had McKay been smart enough to bash you out of everybody's sight, he'd have done damn good. Why, even Preston has the courage to stand up for himself, sometimes."
    The banker acknowledged he had been paid a compliment, Colorado-style. He looked at the townsfolk getting out. Their decision had been against McKay, certainly not in favour of Harmon. He had been just the excuse to vent their hostility at the new alien in their midst. They didn't care about Harmon. Doubt was gnawing at Preston's mind even as he congratulated Jake.
    "Well, Preston," said Harmon, dismissing the Mayor's words, "now that everything's settled, I'm waiting to hear your proposals about our partnership. You'll find me at the saloon."
    Hank was just getting out. He turned with a glint in his eye. "Saloon's closed," he said.
    "Impossible," said Harmon, arrogantly. "How long does it take you to throw out a couple of broken chairs and some shards of glass?"
    Hank grinned. "Saloon's closed for you," he added, and left.
    Harmon shrugged. "What a dead town, Preston. You'll really have to find an attractive proposal." He went out. After a pitying look at the banker, Jake rejoined Teresa who was waiting for him, and they both left.
    Preston stood there for a moment. Then he turned to go away and noticed that Alison McKay was sitting at the back of the empty church. She twirled the strap of her pouch between her fingers as if to regain control of herself.
    Knowing it was at his own risk, he approached her and sat in the bench in front, turning to look at her. "Why didn't you say anything on behalf of your husband, Mrs. McKay?"
    To his surprise, she answered almost civilly. "Nobody would have understood. Or cared."
    "You surely see I had to do it."
    "What I see is you're the most ungrateful person I've ever met, Preston."
    "Ungrateful?"
    "McKay saved your bottom after Windy Creek, did you forget? You could at least have used him the same courtesy today."
    "Mrs. McKay," he began angrily, upset by her rudeness and feeling misunderstood, "how come nobody realises I had nothing to do about the Windy Creek affair? I had no part in the raiders' attacks, I didn't know anything that could have helped the army. When I learned about their plans, I revealed them at once."
    "You were in it, Preston, if only because you accepted a deal with that informer instead of reporting him."
    Preston had to acknowledge that. Had he been possessed of a conscience, he would have felt bad. A man like Sully wouldn't have acted like that. And neither would McKay. Preston didn't think they were right - he felt their minds were pitifully limited - but he was able to recognise the difference.
    "It was venial," he admitted. "Your husband instead could have hurt Fraser badly."
    "He was provoked, Preston. And to be frank, people pick up quarrels at the saloon all the time. Don't hide behind words, that was venial too. You had an opportunity to set the record even. I don't think you'll ever have another."
    Preston's sense of symmetry was somewhat jarred. He smiled charmingly. "Nothing is permanent, Mrs. McKay. I'm sure one day this unpleasant circumstance will be forgotten, and the Council's decision will be reversed."
    Alison shrugged. "It won't concern us anymore."
    Preston could see what she meant. She could already have gone to live in the fort, had she not been attached to her farm. And, in a way, to the town. If that bond was severed, she could sell the farm and start going to Manitou, where already most of the soldiers' families gravitated. McKay could even get a transfer and move to Denver with her. Not that Preston was sorry. They were just troublemakers. Yet he indeed found some difficulty in pushing out of his mind McKay's actions after Windy Creek. Or Alison's words to him months before, something about sarcasm being beneath him. Or Jake's comment, a few moments before. Why, even Preston has the courage to stand up for himself, sometimes.
    Concern for him. Was it possible? Respect, even? Those ephemeral things you incredibly couldn't buy with money?
    Harmon put his head into the church. He nodded at Alison, receiving the usual cold shoulder.
    Preston got up. His prospective partner had just got his ex-fiancée's husband booted out of town, and some excuse or explanation was in order. "I was just leaving," he said. "Harmon, meet me at the bank when you like, we'll get down to business."
    He went to the door and got out. He descended the steps, then was seized by an irresistible curiosity. He turned and saw that Harmon had remained sort of nailed on the threshold. Preston heard Alison's voice, as courteous as she could. "You really got nothing to say?"
    From where he stood he could see part of the man's profile, and he noticed his expression, like that of somebody searching for words in an unknown tongue. And failing to find them. What on earth had first interested Alison in him, he wondered. Then he thought he knew the answer. He knew a little of Alison's story, the death of her parents, her need to take care of a little sister. Years before, Harmon had held out a hand to her. She had needed him back then. Maybe they had even been in love. And then he had taken his hand back. Oh yes, Preston understood what it meant to be in need of help.
    At last Harmon shook his head, rigidly, then turned and gestured to Preston. "I'm wasting time in this town. You'd better find a way to make my stay rewarding." He passed him quickly and started towards the bridge.
    Something was burning inside Preston, and it was not his conscience or his affection for anyone. It was pride. His personal scales were suddenly, surprisingly, heaving with people. People who fed his pride, and people who didn't.
    He followed Harmon, nodding slowly to himself.
    
    Surprisingly, Harmon's appearance had completely calmed Alison. Not that she'd ever had any doubt about him. Seeing him once again, if only for a moment, like she'd seen him when they were engaged - struggling to express the most elementary feelings, to say a simple "I'm sorry", and resulting in a blank wall - made her feel lucky. McKay would never set foot in Colorado Springs anymore, but he would never be like that either. Yes, he had been guilty of hiding his pain, hiding it so deeply within himself that he hadn't been aware of how dangerous it was until too late. This frightened her a little. But all the rest - his happiness in their life together, his commitment, his love for her - were so clear. She just had to look into his eyes, hear the echoes in his voice, feel the way he never could refrain from touching her when they were close. She could trust him. This was all she needed.
    She got up and left the church. After crossing the bridge she passed through the Cafe. Grace was busy making up for the time lost with the process and was cooking lunch, while keeping an eye on the baby in the wicker crib. To the younger woman's eyes she looked frantically happy, if such a thing could ever be. Alison sighed.
    "I wanted to thank you, Grace," she said. "You and Robert E were among the few to say a kind word about McKay."
    She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "I was glad to speak the truth in the teeth of that high-an'-mighty Preston an' his worthy partner. Anytime you need help, Alison -" She grabbed a little bottle and was about to upturn it over the soup.
    "Grace, that's baby powder."
    "What? Oh. Oh, dear." She giggled embarrassedly. "Thought it was nutmeg."
    Alison cut through the Cafe and reached the sheriff's office. McKay was saddling his horse, and with him were Robert E, Daniel, Sully and Michaela. The sergeant turned, looking warmly at her. Alison felt terrible. She was glad for their support, but she wished to be alone with him as soon as possible. He had to get home quickly and change into his uniform, then report to the fort. She wanted to go with him and talk a little. He looked so drawn within himself.
    Michaela took her gently by the arm. "You all right?"
    "Yes," she answered, and drew her a little away from the others. "Michaela... what was that Matthew told McKay? You don't have to answer, but I thought..."
    The doctor nodded, pressing her arm gently. "Alison, you must understand that Matthew suffered much during Sully's absence. He was in charge of the family and of the town, he felt terribly responsible. McKay was forced to act unpleasantly, and Matthew could never forgive him. He held him as a sort of scapegoat."
    "But what did McKay do?"
    "No, he did nothing, Alison," Michaela reassured her. "It's about me. I - While Sully was in hiding, I had a miscarriage. No, wait - that happened after McKay had already gone to Denver in search of help for Sully. He did not in any way contribute to the tension that brought me to lose the baby. Actually it was a source of comfort in those days, knowing that somebody was on our side. Alison..."
    Alison wiped away a tear. "I'm sorry, Michaela." All this talk of babies coming and going was beginning to jangle her nerves. She knew it was pure folly right at that moment, but she wanted so much a child from him. She imagined she could already feel it inside her.
    Michaela smiled and seemed to read her mind. "When is the last time I visited you, Alison? As soon as you can, I'd like to..."
    "Look at that," called Daniel sarcastically.
    Jake, Hank, Loren and Preston were coming towards them, the latter looking very smug.
    "Listen, folks, I don't know how to tell ya, an' frankly I feel like a fool," said Jake, as soon as he was closer, "but Preston here withdrew his motion." Hank, hat drawn down to his eyebrows, acted as it didn't concern him; Loren looked at Alison, smiling contritely.
    "But the Council has voted," said McKay, astonished. "That's the will of the townsfolk."
    "I looked up the Town Charter, it ain't clear 'bout what happens when the cause for a Council vote is removed. So I'll decide. No matter if the town doesn't like you, Sergeant, they don't have any more reason to send you away." He glared at them, then turned in a huff and went back to his shop, dragging the unhappy Loren with him. Hank kicked a stone and headed off for the saloon.
    Alison put her hands on her mouth - she didn't want to give Preston any satisfaction. She went to McKay's side and grabbed his arm, and he took her hand with gratitude. The others cheered unashamedly.
    Preston looked at them. "Fraser's taking the noon train to Denver," he said. "Frankly, he was of no use to me. He didn't offer enough guarantees." He looked at Alison with complicity. She could almost have found him amusing, had it not been for that smile which never really reached his eyes.
    "Thank you," said McKay.
    The banker looked straight at him. "Now we're even," he said, "but I'm not compelled to like you, Sergeant."
    "Suits me."
    Preston nodded charmingly and retreated towards his bank.
    When the sergeant turned, he discovered the others had discreetly disappeared and only a shiny-eyed Alison remained. She threw her arms around his neck and finally laughed with relief.
    "I'm glad, Alison, I'm so glad," he whispered in her hair. "I didn't want to lose this town."
    "Is this town worth worrying for, Terence?" she said, bitterness returning. "They voted to send you away. No matter that Preston changed his mind."
    He nodded. "Takes time." He looked up at the wooden walls and the billboards. "I'm especially sorry for Matthew. Don't know what to do about him."
    "He's young and angry," she said gently. "Time'll work on him especially."
    "I hope so."
    She touched his bruised face tenderly. "Another black spot on Harmon's record," she said.
    "Huh?" he asked, surprised.
    "Beating you up, of course."
    "But it wasn't Harmon. It was Sully."
    "What?"
    "Harmon hadn't even managed to touch me," he explained. "Then Sully knocked me out to prevent me from breakin' his neck. I thought you knew!"
    "No, I... Sully? Not Harmon? Sully?!"
    "Don't be angry with him now, he..."
    Alison embraced him again. "My hero," she said, kissing him lovingly.

The End