"…and here they were already hidden in boundless plains"

Bridget Hunter added a last phrase and signed the point…

One more story of the Wild West was ready…one more story that nobody will read.

While Bridget wrote it, she imagined that all this had happened to her. After all, who could know that the author of histories, full of action - fights, shootings, and other adventures - is unable even to go downstairs, and needs to spend her life in a despised wheelchair?!

Anyway, writing gave her the chance to feel like everybody else, even for several hours. .… Bridget was almost 13 years old, and for 3 of those years she has sat in this chair, after the fall from the spiral staircase.

She was to blame, as her governess said - the young ladies from good families were never interested in garrets.


Her cousins never did things like this! They didn't like her stories, and said that they weren't for girls. Once she gave one to her cousin Edward, but he just laughed at her, and it wasn't finished without a fight.

"Did you ever see an Indian? How can you write this stuff?!"

"I've read about Indians!" Bridget answered.

"And 'Mary Ann with her fairy hair' is you, of course? Such a foolish…!" and he giggled in a disgusting way..

Bridget felt furious and tried to hit her cousin, but he suddenly jumped aside, and she almost slumped to the floor together with her chair. Her aunt and parents ran in when they heard the noise. They were ashamed of Edward that he offended the poor cripple. Bridget tried to object that it was 'she' who began the fight, but nobody listened to her, and now Edward would not even visit her room. Certainly, he was a very nasty guy, but nobody except him treated her just like her treated everybody else…

Nobody except him and Grandma Katherine. They were good friends, but she very seldom visited the Hunter family, and then, about 2 years ago, she left for America.


There was a mysterious story about her son,who was found after more than 20 years, and Grandma Katherine came to him.

Some months later she married the local shopkeeper, and in the opinion of Bridget's parents, definitively disgraced their family.


Father did not allow Bridget to read letters from her grandmother, and nobody else was interested in her stories - Only Grandma who encouraged her to write westerns… Bad cousin Edward was right - "the fairy-haired beauty Mary Ann ", the main character of all her stories, was her. She was so beautiful, and brave, and clever…and she didn't look like Bridget Hunter with her wheelchair - except for the colour of her hair… A few years ago they visited a lot of hospitals and clinics, there were physicians who rumpled and bent her legs, but now it was clear that she would never walk again. It was awful, but her loneliness was much worse…she missed her only friend, Grandma Katherine, very much.

Bridget rolled her chair up to the window and looked outside. She noticed an old postman, who was walking towards their house.


"Good morning, Mr. Atkins!" - Bridget called to him.

"Morning, young lady!" - the postman answered, -

"Here is a letter for you, from America. I'll give it to your mother…"

"Nobody's home!" Bridget lied, "Just throw it to the window!"

The postman handed her an envelope, and walked away.

Bridget rolled her chair out of the window and opened the letter. It was addressed to her mother, Mrs. Hunter, but the girl was not very ashamed - this was her only chance to read something from Grandma.

"Dear Jane! - Grandma Katherine wrote, you still don't want your daughter to write me or to read my letters… you can convict me, if you want…but what I need to suggest to you is very important for Buddy (it was Bridget's nickname, when she was little girl, only Grandma Katherine called her that).

Byron's wife, Michaela, is a doctor. She thinks that the hot springs would be good for her legs. She wants to try it. Please, send Buddy to Colorado Springs even for a little while.. With love, your Ma." Bridget couldn't believe such a thing - Grandma is going to invite her to the real Wild West!!!!

"Sorry I opened your letter, Ma," said Bridget when the family sat at the dining table, "I didn't notice that there was a "Mrs.". Grandma thinks the hot springs in her town probably can fix my legs."

"What rubbish!" her father interrupted.

"But can we try perhaps?" asked her mother timidly.

"The best London physicians examined her," said Mr. Hunter angrily, "but your mother offers us the help of a country doctor, and a woman!"

"She's an M.D. from Boston." Mrs. Hunter said softly.

"It doesn't matter! - Mr. Hunter declared, "We all understand that nothing can fix her legs."

"But I want to try!" said Bridget.

"You must not argue with your father," he began, but Bridget objected:

"It's me who's sitting in this wheelchair, not you…I want to try!"

"George, please, let her try!" Mother asked, "If we have any chance, we need to take it…please!"

Finally, he agreed, and they sent a telegram to Colorado Springs, and two days later they received an answer.:


"Dear Buddy! My son (and your uncle) will get you to Colorado Springs. He will be in London on September 2. His name is Byron Sully. Hope you both will be good friends. With love, Grandma Katherine."

"There is no end to your mother's eccentricity!" Mr. Hunter exclaimed, "Why she didn't come here herself, instead of sending some stranger?!

"George, he's my brother!" Mrs. Hunter answered.

"Your brother! With a name like Byron as well! I can swear, he's never heard about the real 'Byron'! Such a good brother for you - this dirty and ignorant cowboy…it figures…"

In spite of that, Bridget was very excited! She couldn't sleep at night, trying to imagine this mysterious man named Byron Sully…

He looked nothing like she imagined him. He had long light chestnut hair, bright blue eyes, like Grandma Katherine, and was dressed in a very unusual style - in a leather-trimmed coat and buckskins. Besides this, he wore Indian beads around his neck. Bridget noticed that Clifford, their servant, took his coat by two fingers, with great disgust.

But to the wonderment of all the Hunters, his manner of speaking was good and gentle…besides, he was laconic.

There was no any shadow of insincerity in his blue eyes when he stretched his hand out to Bridget, and she responded in kind.

"I've packed my luggage." she informed.

"Fine." he answered, "I got a carriage for us.

Mr. Hunter, Mrs. Hunter, It was good to meet you, but it's time to go…"

"What do you mean, 'time to go'?" Mrs. Hunter asked, "Miss Filbern isn't ready yet."

"Who is she?" Sully wondered.

"She is Bridget's nurse …you must understand." Mrs. Hunter explained looking at Bridget's chair.

"I don't need a nurse!" Bridget objected, "I can take care of myself!"

"Certainly not!"

"Mrs. Hunter," Sully cut in, "I think we can manage without a nurse. Mother didn't tell me about her, and I have just two tickets. Don't worry, I'll take care of her."

"Are you aware, Mr. Sully, of what you are talking about?!" Mr. Hunter exclaimed, "Do you know what it is - to take care of…"

"Of the cripple, he's going to say." - Bridget thought. She hated when somebody talked about her like this. It sounded awful…like a kind of condemnation.. But Sully did not allow him to finish, and she thanked him for that in her mind.

"I'll take care of her." he repeated, "You don't need to worry about her."

"And what about your guarantees?" Mr. Hunter asked. Sully shrugged his shoulders and simply answered:

"My word."

"Your word? You're joking?" asked Mr. Hunter coldly "We've never seen you before. Your mother sometimes…always did unreasonable things."

Bridget looked at Sully. .. he also began to lose his patience.

"We need to hurry, the carriage is waiting." he said through clenched teeth. "Excuse us." he added then.

"Well," Mrs. Hunter sighed, "I think we can trust you, Mr. Sully, but be careful, please."

"We'll send you a telegram as soon as we arrive in Colorado Springs." Sully promised.

Bridget was made to listen to a lot of advice, and finally her wheelchair was placed into a carriage, and she sat near Sully. Her notebook and diary were hidden in her bags, and she was full of hopes to write more stories when she arrived in the West.