Jethro And The Doctor Go On "Fun" Adventures

Graham Winchester was an army doc. He was trained for combat surgery, he had seen some action of his own. Squabbles, mostly. No real battles. Nothing too exciting. Instead, he mostly spent his days running a small clinic in Britain. But there's no action in Britain. No real money to be made. Indeed, America, on the frontier, was where it was at. Dangerous, and he knew it was, and risky, too. But he had no family aside from his mother and sisters, and they would not miss him too much.

Thus, he sat on the train, waiting to set up his clinic in good ol' America.

A man entered the train compartment, large suitcases in hand. Not bothering with so much as a greeting, he sat down across from the doctor and tilted his hat back so his eyes were visible.

He smiled; his teeth were white like porcelain against his dark skin. Tangled, curly hair framed his face. No doubt about it, this man was colored.

"You sure seem clean," he remarked, snickering. "What's a fellow with such nice white sleeves doin' on a train to the middle of nowhere? You get lost on your way back to the east?"

The Doctor looked up from his medical book, smiling suddenly when he saw the man.

"You're a Negro!" he exclaimed, a gleam in his eyes. "I've never seen one before; just Indians in Britain. Filthy immigrants, for the most part, but some of them are decent."

He blinked, upon realizing how very rude he was being.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Do excuse me, I got a bit carried away. My name is Graham, but most people just call me the Doctor."

"Hey, Limey, you didn't answer my question," he said, resting his feet on the nice train seats. "I didn't ask fer yer name, I just wanna know what a man with such clean sleeves is doin' out here. A doctor, no less. A British doctor."

He laughed, slapping his knee.

"I'm going to open a clinic, of course. Patch up cowboys. Can't be any worse than patching up soldiers. Nasty lot they were." He chuckled, adjusting his thick round glasses around his attractive face.

"You know most cowboys look like me, right?" he said, still smiling. "You think you could handle that? My negro guts stainin' your perfect white sleeves after bein' trampled by cattle?"

"Well, is that right?" he asked, genuinely shocked. He had been informed otherwise. Maybe this kid was just making fun of him. He supposed he'd find out sooner or later. "I can't say I know what negro guts look like. If you look like everyone else on the inside, then it won't be a problem."

He smiled. It had only been half of a joke.

"They're black as night, like the rest of me, o' course," he lied, stretching his back. "What else would you expect, partner?

"Don't tell me they don't teach ya nothin' 'bout negroes in your big European city. Ya'll ain't got negroes up there? Who'd ya use for slaves?"

"Is that so?" he asked, leaning forward with an amused smile. "I lived in a rather quaint town. In the middle of bloody nowhere. No negros, just a handful of wogs."

He shrugged.

"Tell you what. You ever get into an incident where your gets are spilled, and I'll sew you up free of charge. Just for the chance of getting to see them. Deal?"

"Why the hell not?" he said, shrugging. "Though I have to tell ya--I don't plan to be around for long. Gotta keep movin'--got some business."

"Of course," he replied, nodding. "You're a busy lot.

"Cowboys, I mean. Not Negroes. Though I suppose that could apply to both, I don't know too much about either, you see."

He chuckled softly.

"Why did you choose to sit with me, out of everyone? Why not, say, a pretty girl?"

"Pretty girls are nosy," he said, laughing. "'Sides, most are 'fraid of negroes--if I want a lady, I can buy her nice and proper. But like I said,l this here's a business trip. Gonna hit paydirt and all that."

He leaned forward, so he was close to the doctor's face.

"I sure hope I was right and you aren't nosy, partner, because if you are we'll have some issues."

The Doctor felt his heart jump, and as he did, shame flooded his chest. He leaned back, not from intimiditation, but from awkwardness.

"I assure you," he said, his voice visibly shaky. He hoped it sounded like he was scared, instead of what he truly was. "I am not nosy."

"Good," he said, reaching out to shake the man's hand. "I like that! And don't worry, I'm sure the negro won't wipe off."

The Doctor shook his hand, adjusting hs glasses with the other, frowning slightly.

"Well, then." He said, standing. "Please excuse me while I use the toilet."

"No problem," said the black cowboy, leaning back in his seat. As he rested his legs, he knocked over his suitcase, and it fell to the floor, spilling its contents,

They were bricks of a lack, sticky substance, haphazardly wrapped in paper.

He got to his feet and grabbed the doctor, pressing a gun to his back.

"I hate to do this, but I got money to make, partner. Sorry."

"Opium," the Doctor said, looking back at the cowboy. "You're a drug runner."

He would have smiled, but he was feeling a bit anxious. Less because he had a gun pointed to his back, and more because he hoped that the situation would turn out a different way.

"Don't sell me short, Doc," he said, shrugging. "I ain't workin' for no one--I'mma sell this and make my own fortune. Live in the lap of luxury for once--maybe buy two or three of them pretty girls you mentioned."

He grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder, leaning close to his ear.

"Now, I hate to do this but I'm afraid yu're my new accomplice. You're gonna do exactly what I say, ya hear? Or I'll put this bullet in you and I don't think even you'll be able to patch it up.

The Doctor inhaled, biting his lip as the gun dug into his back. He felt a twinge of awkwardness as he shifted slightly.

"Of course...I'll do as you say. Anything," he said, the desperation in his voice was not for his own life. "I'll be your...personal doctor, I suppose. Anything you need me to do."

"Naw, I ain't sick," he said, shrugging. "I just need a hostage to get off this train, ya know."

"Well...that's fine, too," he replied. "Though I somehow doubt anyone cares about a British doctor."

He snickered.

"It ain't that I'll shoot ya, it's that they'll be murderin' an innocent if they shoot me--you're my shield. Now come on, let's go rob a train."

"Again, I don't think they really care..."

"I said we're robbing a train!" he said, closing his suitcase and holding it with his spare hand. "Come on, you gotta grab the money anyway. Now get out there!"

"Well, this could be fun, theoretically..." he mumbled to himself as he followed after Jethro. He highly doubted it would be fun, but he supposed it was possible. Maybe.