Hank paced up and down the porch of the Saloon, nodding as Grace crossed the street.
"Well, Grace, haven't seen anyone come back yet. You heard anythin'?" He exhaled a puff of smoke from his mouth.
"Nothing. Sure is quiet around here." Grace shook her head, miserably.
"Yeah, I hear Dorothy's lookin' after the kids, guess it's just you an' me" He winked with a twisted smile.
"Save your breath, Hank Lawson. Seeing as how you weren't bothered to go out after Dr Mike." Grace pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, turning to leave.
"I just didn't see the point is all. Even if they find her alive, she'll wish she was dead after what them injuns probably done." Hank sneered, taking another puff of his cigar.
"You can't say that," Grace trailed off, contemplating the suggestion.
"Sure I can. You heard Jake and Loren talkin' about what they're like a few weeks back. Probably doin' her a favor if they kill her anyway." Hank rested an arm casually on the Saloon door. From the look on his face and slurring of his words he may as well have been chatting about the weather.
"Well, it don't matter what happens, as long as they find her alive," Grace replied defensively, her voice shaky.
"Easy for you to say that, all tucked up safe and sound here. How'd you feel having to lay down with one of those savages. Probably all of 'em. Suppose they do find her, no man'll ever touch her again." Hank scoffed.
"You've got a very cruel streak, Hank Lawson. May God have mercy on your soul, and heaven forbid you ever need the help of your friends." Grace was just about to storm off, when they heard the sound of approaching horses.
"Well, well, maybe we'll get this over and done with sooner than we thought." Hank, Grace and the other townsfolk ran across to the cavalry as they stopped their horses in the main street.
"What happened, did you find them?" Grace asked, addressing General Custer.
"No, didn't find a thing. Few abandoned campsites here and there, but they could be anywhere," Custer replied gruffly, exhausted from the day's trek, wanting nothing more than a hot meal and warm cot.
"But they're still out there. You can't just leave 'em," Grace raised her voice slightly; it had been five days now.
"Well, if they're still alive, we couldn't find 'em. And since Dr Quinn's still missing, we've got some hangings to prepare for, come morning." Custer retorted, before ordering his men back to their tents for the night.
"Oh, that man," Grace trailed off, disgusted.
"Hey, least he tried. Up to me, I'd 'ave just got rid of the whole lot of 'em savages right off. Save ourselves the effort." Hank threw his cigar butt into the nearby spittoon, with a smile.
"Let's just hope the men have more luck," Grace concluded, making her way back to the café briskly.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
As she was pushed through the flap into the small tepee, Michaela looked back once again, trying to enlist someone's help; however by this stage, the other Indians had lost interest, and had resumed their conversations.
Taking another forced breath, Michaela turned as One Eye closed the tepee flap behind them and led her towards the pile of blankets in the far-right corner behind the small fire. Feeling nausea threaten to push her into retaliation, Michaela dropped her eyes closed, reminding herself once again that her children needed her; alive. That she must survive. Aware of the soft blankets underneath her, she felt her center of gravity shift, keeping her eyes closed, as she felt his rough hands seize her shoulders.
Having overcome her natural instinct to escape the situation, Michaela felt the raw terror sweep over her; turning her blood cold, as she grappled with the comprehension that nightmare was about to become reality. She must force herself to submit to that which repulsed her beyond consideration.
Michaela was distracted from her inner dialogue, as she felt the blankets against her back, realizing, with some disorientation, that she'd been guided downwards and into a level position, flat against the ground.
"Please, don't hurt me." She heard the now familiar plea pass her lips, knowing she'd uttered it more to reassure herself than to influence her would-be ravisher. Michaela swallowed and closed her eyes tighter as she felt his fingers on her blouse, undoing the few remaining buttons that were still left. She felt his other hand slip underneath her skirt and along her legs, involuntarily resisting the contact with her bound hands.
"Stop, stop!" Michaela struggled to pull away, unable to withstand his touch. One Eye reacted without delay, grabbing her wrists, and securing her arms painfully above her head with his left hand. His right hand moved quickly to his belt, as he drew his knife and leant back over Michaela's small body, to press it against her throat.
"Neve'nêheševe! Netanová!" he snarled, increasing the force with which the implement made contact with her skin, causing Michaela to moan as the sharp edge of the blade cut into her neck. The language barrier was the least of her concerns. No-one needed a translation for something so primitive; if she resisted, he'd kill her. Once again closing her eyes and letting her arms go limp above her head, Michaela pictured the children. Tears formed behind her closed eyelids.
She felt One Eye's hands unbutton her skirt and pull it down from her waist. He moved his knife from her throat to the edge of her chemise and cut through the thin material in one sharp motion to expose her chest. Michaela squirmed involuntarily in response to the invading gesture, however, saw the blade of the knife glimmer above her, and focused all her efforts on again remaining still.
Realizing she understood the consequence if she were to struggle, One Eye returned the knife to its sheath and removed the belt from his waist.
Eyes dropping closed again, Michaela felt her body freeze. Resistance was not an option; she'd angered him enough already. She knew the only way she would stay alive would be to allow the inevitable to occur.
Michaela was far away in her head before she felt his lips on hers and his hands on her chest. Managing to overpower her disgust, she struggled for breath, the night air feeling cold against her exposed flesh. Swallowing, and taking another shallow gasp of air, Michaela directed her attention to combating the nausea welling up from her stomach, as she was conscious of his hands groping her upper body.
"Please," she whispered, not knowing whether to be relieved or not when she felt his lips leave hers. Taking several revitalizing breaths, Michaela slowly opened her eyes, just as she felt his hands move downwards to reach the waistband of her bloomers. Feeling every muscle in her body tense, Michaela turned her head to the left side, letting her eyes once again drop closed.
Tears trickled silently down her cheeks as she felt the cool air hit her exposed flesh. She tried to remove herself from the physical sensations she was experiencing, knowing that thinking about what she was allowing to take place would make compliance impossible.
Michaela remembered why she had to get through this: the children. She forced every fiber within her to block out the feeling of the Indian's hands on her thighs.
Disjointed images flooded her consciousness until they locked once again on Brian. She remembered the feeling of running her fingers through his fine, soft hair, remembered the look on Brian's face when she found the bruises on the back of his legs, just over a week ago, after Miss Chambers had struck him. Michaela knew she had to be there to protect him. She remembered their conversation that night, feeling Brian pressed against her chest, as she hugged him tightly and sang him to sleep.
Michaela couldn't hear anything at that point aside from her breathing, nor could she feel the dog soldier's fingers on her cold flesh.
"Oh God," Michaela bit her lower lip as she felt his weight press down on top of her, praying silently that something would prevent the inevitable from occurring. Feeling his hand on her knee, Michaela struggled for breath, aware of the tears running down her face and neck. As he forced her legs apart, she felt her body shake in unmitigated terror. Trying to resist, Michaela pushed her hands against the blankets above her head, searching for something, anything to grasp, or use as a weapon. Feeling only the blanket between her clutched fingers, Michaela realized her arms weren't actually moving; having been immobilized by fear. She couldn't move at all by that stage, leaving her with no other sanctuary than her mind.
As much as every inch of her spirit told her to fight, her body was frozen.
"No," Michaela heard her voice come from nowhere, nothing more than a dutiful sobbed plea, uttered simply to console her own conscience. She moved her gaze up to the top of the tepee, able to see several stars illuminating the night sky. She could feel his fingers touching her, preparing to enter her.
Michaela forced her eyes closed and held her breath, images flashing across her mind as she tried to accept her impending fate.
The trepidation hovered, as she tried to ignore the physical contact; she knew to expect discomfort. Feeling her eyes moved behind her closed eyelids, Michaela found herself mentally flipping through textbooks, searching for something, some solace as to how the inevitable was going to be endurable. Illustrations from textbooks were providing little assistance, if only illusionary solace.
Michaela sensed the air within her rush out in a pained moan, as she felt him invade her. Gasping, she tried to move her hands, anything to make the overwhelming pain stop. She realized he had her wrists pinned above her head, making it impossible for her to move. Michaela struggled for awareness beyond the physical torment being inflicted upon her, inescapably conscious of every movement.
Michaela was unable to control her drawn-out cry; the physical pain being worse than she could have anticipated. She was left incapable of concentrating on anything else, no matter how hard she tried.
"Stop," she whimpered, as tears streamed uncontrollably from her eyes. "Please." She felt the breath pass from her mouth, however unable to hear her own utterance. Michaela felt her teeth return to her lower lip, in a desperate attempt to endure the burning pain, physical torture having swiftly taken over from emotional violation.
Sully.
Michaela wept, her cries only strengthening when she reminded herself he could not save her. Michaela was soon distracted by the taste of blood in her mouth, as her teeth bit through her lower lip. She felt him forcing his way deeper inside of her, however, could only let out a low whimper of sustained protest. The hot tears streamed down her face and Michaela was able to taste their saltiness in her mouth, as it melded with her own blood.
The nausea increased, as she felt the pressure in her lower abdomen increase, his body moving rhythmically against hers. It was too close, she felt consumed. Turning her head away and closing her eyes were the only ways she had of separating herself from him.
Eventually, the darkness behind her eyelids faded away until she was back in Colorado Springs. Pushing her head back harder against the blankets underneath her, Michaela could hear Brian's innocent voice fluttering through fragments of words and conversation. She could see Colleen's face as she handed her the stethoscope with frostbitten hands; she knew she had to hold onto these memories.
Michaela felt her consciousness resurface to the present moment, the stinging from her lip providing welcome competition to the uncontrollable pain she was suffering. Still, she kept her eyes closed, begging for unconsciousness to sweep her away from torture; feeling the dog soldier's hot, panting breath against her cheek, as his hands roughly assaulted her upper body. Slowly, the comforting darkness found her.
Her next sensation was the roughness of a blanket as it was thrown against her bare skin. Moving her hands slowly, to push the corner of the object from her mouth and nose, Michaela waited several minutes before opening her eyes to confirm her isolation. Not daring to move, she felt the tears dry on her face before she eventually attempted to pull herself into a sitting position.
Immediately, Michaela felt the blood as it trickled down the inside of her thighs. Hesitantly removing the blanket that covered her, she saw the bright red blood which smeared her thighs. Without further thought, Michaela dropped back down against the floor.
Feeling the blankets underneath her, tears of hopelessness returned. She would never be rescued, probably killed come morning. The prospect of spending more nights going through what she just had, seemed just as abhorrent. Michaela felt the piercing discomfort intensify as she struggled to endure her environment, feeling pain, fear, and coldness merge together into one emotional experience. Merely by taking one breath, after another, after another, Michaela knew she could stay alive. Drowsiness soon became a welcomed refuge, and, moving very guardedly, into a protective ball, she fell into a semi-conscious sleep.
~.~
X.O.X
Wednesday, 12th May, 1869
One Day Later - Dawn
X.O.X
~.~
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this, when I could have spent the night in a nice, warm bed and had a hot meal." Jake groused, splashing water over his face in a desperate attempt to wake himself up. The five men had been searching until the early hours of the morning, before deciding to make camp until dawn.
"Look. you've only been out here one night, Jake. What about Dr Mike? She's been out here five now. So don't think you've got any right to start complainin'," Loren challenged the younger man, although feeling just as tired and cold, he at least had the decency not to admit it.
"But we ain't even got that wolf no more, went running up that cliff. Probably chasin' a rabbit or something." Jake finished packing up his belongings, realizing everyone was waiting on him.
"Well, we can't give up now. Besides, if we return without them, Custer'll hang the rest of the Indians first chance he gets," Robert E. was just as tired as the others, however tried desperately to boost their spirits.
"But we ain't gonna find them. We passed Custer and his men last night; they've given up, maybe with good reason." Jake slowly laced his shoes and arrived to his feet.
"I'm shocked at all of you! That's my Ma out there, and Sully. And God only knows if they're injured, or even dead. All I do know is, I ain't going back to tell Brian and Colleen they've lost another mother. Any of you that want to, be my guest. But I'd sooner die out here trying to find them, then return to town never knowin'," Matthew mounted his horse, and secured his hat on his head, sheer rage providing him with enough energy to keep going.
"Matthew's got a point; we can't just leave Dr Mike out here with the injuns," Loren acquiesced, tying his folded bedding to the back of his horse.
"I agree. Dr Mike's worked to save all of us, at one time or another. Jake, she took care of you when you were drinking, mean she coulda let you die, but she didn't. She fought to keep you alive. Same as you Loren. And you Robert E., you nearly died. Why, we all owe our lives to her, and I ain't givin' up neither," Horace reaffirmed Matthew's words, waiting for the others to follow suit.
"Well, then, Jake? I don't believe you can argue with that," Loren questioned, waiting several moments until Jake relented and climbed onto his horse.
"Right, let's go. We're gonna start over, from the Caraway's homestead where Sully said they took her," Matthew ordered, leading the search party once again.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Michaela awoke to the feeling of a hand on her face, and a heavy weight against her back. She blearily opened her eyes, having momentarily forgotten her location.
She could tell it was very early in the morning, from the light streaming in through the top of the tepee.
"Where?" She moved her head slightly, realization dawning on her as directly as a bolt of lightening struck a tree. "No, please," Michaela pulled her arms weakly from her chest, attempting to deflect the physical contact, however still struggling to piece all the events together into a meaningful sequence.
The dog soldier kept his right hand clasped firmly to the side of her face, as he almost gently, pulled the red blanket from her body. Michaela felt the chilling air summon her attention, and struggled to sound more convincing in her appeal, despite fighting physical weakness.
It wasn't until that moment, that Michaela was able to recall the specific details of the previous nights' events; she could then interpret the intention of the man who remained knelt beside her.
"Don't," she pleaded.
She recoiled from the touch of his hand, as he ran his fingers along the side of her body, noticing the blood which stained her thighs. This did not seem to have any deterring impact, as he effortlessly rolled her onto her back once again.
"Please, I, I'm hurt," Michaela heard the lifeless words slip from her mouth, in too much pain to protest with any more vigor.
Michaela noticed her arms rested against her bare chest, as she searched the depths of her panicked mind, for any useful defense. "He-hévoeotse." She struggled to find an appropriate translation; in that moment grateful Cloud Dancing had provided her with several medically relevant words, bleeding being one of them.
She waited several seconds as the dog soldier frowned, and clearly took in her utterance, however gasped in protest as he roughly pulled her bound hands away from her chest and pressed them firmly against the blankets above her head.
From the powerful grip around her wrists, Michaela knew physical resistance would be pointless. She deliberately turned her head away again, as she felt his right-hand slide forcefully along the inside of her thigh. An anguished whine sounded from her throat, as Michaela felt his hands lock either side of her waist; the mere strength he possessed rendered any defense trifling and worthless.
Michaela could feel the biting sting of pain hit her the moment he again made contact with her defiled body; her breathing shallow as she dug her fingernails into the palms of her clenched hands. The pain of something she could control eased the unparalleled agony of the savage brutalization she could not.
She heard the abstract voices talking over the top of one another in her mind. She could see Charlotte's face and heard her voice. "Please look after my children," Charlotte whispered. Michaela blinked again through the tears, seeing Brian twirling his red ribbon through the air. She could see Colleen, Matthew, and Brian together. Although she could not discern the content of their words, she could recognize the sounds; the pitches.
This superficial relief did not last for long. Michaela felt the damage his ravishment was causing.
No. By that point, she was unable to distinguish between verbal protests and mental pleas. She knew further trauma would destroy any clotting, however, was confronted by the dark reality, that there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent it. Michaela pressed her arms as hard as she was able against his chest.
It was pointless. He was at least double her weight, and her arms merely became stuck, pressed between their bodies as he pulled her hips closer towards him, increasing the depth of his penetration.
She yelped against the searing pain with each movement of his body against hers; she could barely breathe. She felt his hand grip her left shoulder, squeezing roughly as he moved harder and faster against her. She felt her hair pulled from the back of her head as it was caught between his hand and her shoulder, pulling more painfully as her body was jolted against his.
As she felt his mouth against hers, she quickly brought her breathing back to her nose, feeling her lips burn with the rough contact. There was nowhere to go. Even the refuge of her mind wouldn't help her.
Breathe and it will be over soon.
Michaela found herself repeating that phrase over and over in her mind, as she heard the intermittent whimpers and pleas of protest pass her lips.
Again, she begged for her mind to take her away, able to see dawn breaking through the top of the tepee.
Her attention was distracted by a rush of light into the small space, as she heard the flap of the tepee move, and two other dog soldiers stepped inside.
Just as she realized One Eye had stopped thrusting inside her, she heard the raised voices between the three men.
Managing to catch her breath as she felt the pain lessen significantly as he had withdrawn from her, Michaela tried to make out fragments of words exchanged between them.
"Véstaenóvem!" One Eye turned to them with a smile, keeping one hand on her bound wrists and the other on her left shoulder.
"Néosee-e'hanóhtoomeše," the dog soldier with black, yellow, and red war paint across his face, looked between the other dog soldier and One Eye.
"Nenóve'xóvéva," One Eye turned his attention back to her.
"Please, help me," Michaela pleaded to the two other dog soldiers, hearing her high-pitched voice as it cracked through the tears that had trickled down her throat.
She had no way of understanding their words.
Michaela looked down at his hand wrapped around her wrists as she felt him push back inside her.
"Nóxa'e!" One Eye growled at both of the other men, as he increased the speed of his movements.
"Stop, stop!" she whined, not having the ability to take a deep enough breath to protest any louder.
Michaela felt her eyes squeeze closed in agony, his long hair brushing against her face and breasts as he moved deeper within her.
She could still hear the banter and laughter behind her closed eyelids, but was too overwhelmed by pain, humiliation, and exhaustion, to feel anger.
Forcing herself to open her eyes again, Michaela turned to the right, trying to understand what the conversation was about. She felt One Eye's hand squeeze her left breast painfully, as she watched the other two dog soldiers remove their guns and ammunition and unbuckle their belts from their waists.
Again, the sharp wave of terror hit her body like a brutal wave as they took several steps towards her.
Michaela didn't know where to look; the aggressive yet satisfied expression on One Eye's face made her want to turn her head, but the excited smiles on the faces of the other two dogs soldier's faces as they arrived on either side of her, made her want to close her eyes completely.
"No!" Michaela screamed, mustering all the energy she had left, in that moment not caring if she lived or died. She twisted and pulled against One Eye's grasp, feeling both his hands push down on her hips as the internal pressure and pain immediately intensified.
Again, she closed her eyes, finding the familiar scab of dried blood on her lower lip.
She knew unequivocally in that moment that, children or not, she couldn't withstand this.
Eyes still closed, she felt One Eye move harder against her three times.
The pain was blinding and she involuntarily jerked away.
Again, the three men were in conversation over her.
She felt him withdraw from her, at the same time as she felt the heavy sensation of blood loss.
"Noma'heméa'xe?" The dog soldier with only the red war paint across his eyes squatted down beside her, curiously taking in the scene before him.
Just as Michaela felt a hand around her wrists, she heard the unmistakable sound of gunshots in the distance.
She closed her eyes against the dizziness, hearing the gunfire and raised voices grow in volume.
Suddenly, following a barrage of yelling, Michaela heard the dog soldiers collect their weapons and run from the tepee.
Michaela was aware of only her physical entity and the dampness between her legs, as she gingerly reached a hand to her thighs. She groaned when she felt the warm trickle of blood hit her cold fingertips.
She could feel the pulsating wetness against her hand, and her fingers soon became slippery. Death, as a result of blood loss, came as an immediate consideration. Michaela weakly glanced around her surroundings, feeling for any remnants of her clothing. Her fingers locked quickly onto the torn chemise hanging at her chest.
Distracted by the ongoing intensity of the gunfire and war cries, Michaela struggled to tear several pieces of the material. Her hands shook as involuntary drowsiness threatened to overtake her. Michaela succeeded in painfully yet firmly securing the internal packing before her thoughts jumbled to the point of confusion.
Overcome by nausea, she turned her head to the left, heaving what little stomach contents she still had.
The gunfire drew even closer.
Coughing, and spitting out the remnants of vomit and blood-tinged saliva, Michaela heard the gunfire cease as abruptly as it started.
It was eerily quiet.
She could hear voices.
"Dr Mike! Dr Mike!" Jake called, as he and Horace began to search through the tepees, while the remainder of the group ensured the dog soldiers were no longer a threat.
As she fought against the searing pain, Michaela crawled across to locate her skirt, attempting to refit it, however, with her hands bound she couldn't fasten it.
Feeling the humiliation hit her, Michaela frantically smoothed her skirt over her bloodstained legs, and tried to concentrate enough to stop her hands shaking, so she was able to button up the few remaining buttons on her blouse.
Taking a deep breath, she didn't know what to expect, and rolled onto her right side in a protective ball, just as she saw the tepee flap move.
"Dr Mike?" She heard the familiar voice, as she lifted her head slightly, opening her eyes to confirm the identity.
Michaela looked away just as quickly, drawing her arms tighter against her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible.
"She's here! I found her!" Horace called excitedly, as he entered the tepee.
Michaela saw the tips of his black shoes move towards her, closing her eyes against the tears that had renewed. She felt her lower arms and hands shake against her chest, drawing her knees tightly together and bringing them up towards her torso as far as she was able against the burning pain radiating from her abdomen.
She could hear herself sobbing uncontrollably.
Horace slowed as took in her disheveled appearance, torn clothing, and tears.
Horace bent down next to her; he'd never seen her like this. It was then that he noticed the blood on her hands.
"Dr Mike?" Horace wasn't sure what was wrong with her but had the instinct not to touch her.
She heard her name again, taking several slower breaths, and managing to stop crying.
"It's all right, we shot them all," Horace reassured her.
Michaela looked down, still feeling her hands trembling. She clasped them together in an attempt to stop them shaking.
"Here." Horace carefully reached forwards, trying to untie the rawhide from her wrists.
Michaela remained silent, watching the gentle expression on his face.
"Sorry, it's knotted real bad," he apologized, unable to remove it without a knife or scissors.
Both looked up at the sharp ray of morning sunlight that filled the space.
"Horace what's taking so," Jake stopped mid-sentence when he saw Michaela. Her long hair was knotted, and partially obscured her face. Her blouse was torn on the right sleeve and shoulder, done up with only a few buttons, exposing the flesh of her upper chest and neck, barely covering her.
Jake looked between Michaela and Horace, unsure why they were both just sitting there.
"Are you hurt?" Jake gestured to the blood covering her hands. Receiving no response, he took a few steps towards her, brushing her hair back so he could see her face properly. She had scratches and bruises on her forehead and cheek; however, it was the empty, hollow expression he saw in her eyes that alarmed him the most.
"Jake, I can't untie her hands," Horace gestured to her wrists.
"I got it." Jake reached to his back pocket for the straight razor, leaning forward to cut the rawhide between her wrists.
Michaela looked sharply away from him, slipping the restraints from her wrists.
"It's all right, Dr Mike." Horace looked back to Jake.
"Horace, we need to get her back to town." Jake spoke very slowly, as he reached for Michaela's left arm.
Immediately she pulled away with a scared whine.
"Come on, Dr Mike, we're taking you home." Horace wasn't sure if she was injured or not, she wouldn't speak.
Jake looked briefly back to Horace, frowning, and feeling his blood run cold at the consideration.
"Come on," Jake reached out a hand to her, resisting the impulse to physically touch her.
"I don't think she can walk, Jake," Horace frowned.
"God only knows what she's been through. They probably," Jake trailed off, and looked away to notice her undergarments discarded several feet from the pile of blankets.
"Here, I'll carry her," Jake finished, in an effort to ignore the realization of what had occurred.
Surprised when Michaela did not resist, Jake picked her up in one swift movement and carried her out into the morning sunlight.
It was only a minute or so until Loren and Robert E. had met up with them.
"What's happened to her?" Loren asked, before receiving a cold stare from Jake.
"Hurry, come on, we gotta get her back to the Clinic. Colleen can," Jake trailed off as Matthew spotted them.
"Dr Mike! Are you," Matthew too was left speechless as he ran up to the group.
The young man stumbled, awkwardly maintaining his balance as he arrived between Horace and Robert E., stopping abruptly. His jaw dropped, eyes narrowing in concern, as he recognized the slight form of his mother, supported easily in Jake's arms.
"Ma?" Matthew swallowed, taking a step closer towards her.
Turning her head away from the familiar faces, Michaela buried her face against Jake's shoulder, her hands still shaking. In that moment, she didn't know which emotion was stronger - humiliation or relief.
"We'll get her back to the Clinic, and I'll wire Denver straight away. Make sure they send us a doctor first thing." Horace, surprisingly, was the only one able to think rationally.
"Dr Mike?" Jake looked down, as Michaela went limp in his arms.
"Oh my God, is she?" Loren overreacted.
"No, she's just passed out," Jake answered quickly, hastily moving towards the group of horses.
"Come on Jake, we'll put her on your horse," Loren decided, jostling the group into action.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Grace wiped her hands in her apron, having walked across to the verandah outside the clinic, Dorothy and Colleen sitting on the bench, Brian playing with his cup and ball on the step.
"Oh, morning Grace," Dorothy looked up. "Any news?"
"'fraid not, the men still aren't back yet. Custer and the army gave up late last night." Grace replied.
"So, they were out there all night?" Dorothy spoke, shocked.
"Yeah, and I had to put up with Hank all evening. You shoulda heard the filth comin' from his mouth." Grace shook her head, appalled.
"I can imagine. Sometimes it's as though that man has no heart," Dorothy consoled.
"They'll find her, won't they? They gotta," Brian wiped his eyes, trying to cover up the fact that he'd been crying.
"I'm sure they will, Brian. You just got to believe." Grace smiled, wrapping her arm around Brian's shoulders suddenly realizing she'd forgotten about his tenth birthday. "Oh, Brian, congratulations! We got to have a special lunch for you today, all right?" Grace suddenly remembered the little boy's birthday. He shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it.
"I dunno, Miss Grace. I don't really feel like it," he looked at Dorothy for support.
"That's really sweet of you, Grace. I just think Brian'd rather wait until Michaela's back to celebrate with him." She smiled, squeezing the boy's hand affectionately.
"Oh, I see. Of course," Grace trailed off, hearing a distant noise. She turned, glancing towards the street.
"What is it, Miss Grace?" Colleen asked, getting to her feet.
"I dunno, I thought I heard something. Let's go look, shall we?" She quickly took off her apron, the four running to the main street.
"I can hear horses, Miss Dorothy! Listen!" Brian exclaimed, pulling excitedly on her arm. The group stood still for several moments, Dorothy shielding her eyes from the sun, eventually making out the horses moving towards them.
"They're coming! I see them!" Dorothy shouted.
"What's all the ruckus!" Hank sauntered across from the Saloon, standing with the small group.
"Have they got Ma?" Brian asked, climbing onto the wagon to try and get a better look at the horses heading down the street.
"I'm not sure Brian." Grace shielded her eyes from the morning sun.
"I can see something. I think, well, Jake's carrying someone," Hank observed, the concern in his voice somewhat of a shock to those around him.
"Oh my Lord, it's Michaela!" Dorothy exclaimed, as the small group ran towards the approaching horses.
"Ma! Ma!" Brian struggled to keep up, as they met the convoy.
"She's unconscious, quick, get her into the Clinic." Jake ordered, lifting her down into Hank's arms, as Dorothy, Grace, Colleen, and Brian crowded around him.
"I'll go wire Denver for a doctor," Horace dismounted his horse and ran back towards the Telegraph office.
Dorothy supported Michaela's right hand against her chest, as Hank moved as quickly as possible across to the porch of the Clinic.
"Here." Colleen opened the door.
"Quick, get her inside," Hank's face grew darker, as the group arrived into the room, Jake and Matthew helping him lay Michaela on the examination table.
"What's wrong with her?" Dorothy demanded immediately.
Jake looked awkwardly around the room.
"They," he couldn't say it. As much as he and Dr Mike had had their disagreements, even arguments in the past, she'd saved his life on more than one occasion, including the time he'd been kidnapped by the dog soldiers.
"Jake? C'mon, out with it!" Hank was impatient, this drama had taken up too much time already.
"They, violated her!" Jake stated, his words drawing an immediate silence from the room. Nobody moved or spoke, the group looking from Jake to Michaela's unconscious form.
"Oh no." Dorothy shook her head.
"I'll take the children outside. Grace, you stay with Dorothy," Jake instructed, turning and motioning for everyone to go back outside.
"But wait, I wanna help," Colleen protested, trying to get past Jake back into the room.
"Colleen, let Miss Dorothy handle it." Robert E. placed an arm around her shoulders lightly, taking her outside, as everyone filed from the room.