Young Writers Society

Wrapping her shawl around her slender shoulders, Liana shivered in the chilly beginning of the winter wind, which swept its way down all the way from the Colorado River to the mountain valley of the dead ruins of Risting Ranch. Her mare's bay coat under her saddle already looked like it was ready for a hard winter. Liana slid her ice cold hands under the saddle blanket for warmth from the horse's body. She had just come back from Sunday sermon in Tipple and was heading to her lonely home down the mountain.

The little town of Tipple wasn't much. It was more like a community of Christian families. Unlike most Colorado mountain towns in 1870, there were no saloons or gamblers. Crime was scarce. The preacher held services on Saturdays, Sundays, Wednesdays, and every other Thursday. The town also had town hall meetings, which Tom Risting, her former fiancé, was a big part of. Her fiancé died in the mines seven months and twelve days ago. The struggle to save him only ended in a tragic memory. It seemed that Liana counted every day, every hour, every second she spent feeling so alone without him.

As she left to go back to the ranch, which was down the valley a quarter mile or more, she saw a rider in the distance. The figure was faint in the mountain flurries, but she could tell it was a man. He was hunched over, his legs dangling over the sides instead of in the stirrups. He disappeared on the trial over the steep hill.

Out of curiosity, Liana cantered her horse faster until she reached the edge of the large hill. She scanned her eyes over the hill and saw the horse, but not the rider. As she got closer, she realized that the man had fallen off the horse and was lying in the snow, unconscious. Her first thought was that it might be her father, and he might be hurt. She cantered her mare down the hill, approaching the horse and the fallen man. Climbing off her horse, she realized that this man was not her father at all, but a much younger stranger. He had dark eyebrows with brown hair peeping out of his black hat. He was in need of a shave and could use a bath, but he was noticeably handsome. There was a leather strap secured around his leg where he tried to stop the bleeding of a gunshot wound to his thigh. There was a stab wound on his chest and a cut on his hand. Liana didn't know what to do, since she had not been in this situation before. She knew she had to get him to Dr. Wilford, the only doctor in town.

First, she checked to see if the man was alive or dead. She knelt down and nudged him on the shoulder. Her gentle little nudge disturbed his wound and he yelped aloud. He came into consciousness, pulling out a pistol from his gun belt and pointing it at her. She gasped, jumping back from him. His arm fell and he dropped the gun on the ground. Nobody in Tipple carried weapons. There was no reason to. Perhaps this man was running from the law. Oh, if anyone knew this man was an outlaw, he'd be booted out of town for sure, dieing or not. So, Liana began to search for more guns. She took his gun belt off, which had two pistols at his sides, and then she found a holstered Colt at his shoulder. There was a rifle scabbard strapped to his saddle. She took that off to. This man was no ordinary game hunter with all those pistols. Carefully gathering up all the guns in her arm, she hid them in the brush nearby. His survival came first, then justice. Even though the man might be dangerous, she couldn't just leave him here. It wouldn't be Christian of her. So, she led her mare closer to the man and decided to get him up on her. It was easier thought of than done. When a person is limb, they seem much heavier. Nevertheless, she managed to hoist the man up on the saddle.

Dr. Wilford was crossing the street of Tipple when he saw Liana leading her mare and another horse into town. When she got closer to his office, he could see the man hunched over on her horse. “Miss Pervis, what happened?” he said, rushing over and catching the limp man's shoulders before he fell to the ground.

“He's been shot!” Liana answered, following the doctor into his small office building. “I found him up the mountain a ways.” She went by the bedside as Dr. Wilford laid the injured man on the bed.

“Was he awake when you found him?” he asked.

“He fell off his horse when I saw him. He only woke up once, but just for a few seconds,” she said, watching as the doctor checked the man's vital signs.

“He's got a deep stab wound, broken leg and gunshot wound, damage to his ribs, and he's probably dehydrated,” Dr. Wilford said.

“Is he gonna live?” Liana asked, feeling helpless.

Dr. Wilford looked up over his spectacles from the gunshot wound and said real carefully, “Miss Pervis, I don't think this is the best place for you right now, especially what happened to Tom.”

A tear ran down Liana's cheek as she pictured what happened in the room, seven months and twelve days ago, when they tried to save her fiancé's life. Nevertheless, it didn't seem right to walk away from this stranger in need.

Three days after Liana had found the no name on the mountainside, she came in, as she did a couple times a day, to check on his progress. The man was still unconscious and she feared he wouldn't wake. Dr. Wilford informed her that his wounds were healing up just fine but he was still dehydrated and the concussion probably took a major toll on him. A young boy was in with the flue and Dr. Wilford was busy helping the cobbler's wife with her late pregnancy. There had been many calls for the doctor of the little town of Tipple. Now that he could do no more for the recovering stranger, he knew he had to send him off somewhere else to rehabilitate.

“I hope that young man will wake up soon, Miss Pervis,” the doctor called out from the other room. “I haven't had a sicker, injury-prone year in a long time.”

Liana shook her head and settled herself down in a chair next to the bed. “I hear ya,” she sighed. She couldn't believe her eyes when she noticed the man's eyebrows start to twitch and his eyes squinting as if he was about ready to open them. He started to move his head a little. Liana sat straight up in her chair. “Sir, can you hear me?” she asked softly.

Opening his eyes and staring up at her, looking confused and disoriented, he said, “An angel?”

Liana knew he wasn't thinking right, so she called for Dr. Wilford. He came in, glad to see his patient he's had for three days actually awake. “Sir, can you look up at me?” The man did.

“Am I dead?” he asked.

“Why no,” Dr. Wilford replied, “thanks to Miss Pervis, here. I'm going to ask you a few questions, sir. What is your name?”

“Uh, Morgan Gray,” the man replied.

“Do you know what year it is?”

“1880,” Morgan Gray answered. Then his face was overcome with concern when he said, “Where am I?”

“You're in Tipple, Colorado,” the doctor answered.

“Colorado?” Morgan exclaimed. “Huh. How long have I been here?”

“Three days."