Zachariah and Clement wandered the streets of Dodge and peered in windows, stepped into stores as they looked around town. Clement finally stopped, "What did you mean that the pretty lady didn't like you?" he asked his brother.
Zach froze for a second and then turned to his brother, "It's just like I said. She told me she didn't like me so I left the Long Branch shortly after you did. My heart ached," he stated as he stared at his brother.
"I liked her. Maybe she will like me better," Clement smiled and continued up the street. Zach hurried up to catch him, "I don't think she's your type, Clem," he said taking his brother by the shoulder to stop him.
"Why?" Clement blinked.
"Well," Zach ran his hand across his face, "She likes a lot of really expensive things and I don't think Pa would be happy that you spent your money like that," he reasoned.
"But what if she married me?" Clement asked.
"Oh, I don't think she's the marring type," Zach stated. "You see, she gets all sorts of things given to her where she works," he tried to explain. Clement frowned, "Well it won't hurt in asking her," he huffed.
"Okay. Fine. You can ask her later, but first we're going to finish looking around and then find us another saloon," Zachariah smiled as he playfully poked his brother in the shoulder.
"Another saloon? Okay!" Clem exclaimed and followed his brother up the street.
Doc climbed the stairs in the hotel with Randall, "Where are you from?" he asked the young man.
"Kinda all over lately. Father wants to settle down where winter isn't as bad," Randall smiled as he reached for the door knob of his father's room. Doc ticked his head as he entered the dark room. "It's best if you address him as the General," Randall whispered to the doctor.
Doc's eyes narrowed as he squinted into the dark room. He then walked to the window and the first thing he did was to pull open the drapes. The general moaned," Close those back up," he growled, covering his eyes with his arm.
"I will not, unless you really don't want me to look at you," Doc challenged.
Randall stood at the doorway with a mix of terror and awe on his face.
Slowly the General turned his head, "Who are you?" he then coughed.
Doc studied the man, "I'm Doc Adams. Your son came for me," he thumbed to the door. The General's eyes follow the doctor's direction, "I thought you said he was sick," he growled.
"I was sick. And for all I know still am," Doc said in the young man's defence. "Now what about you?" he said as he placed his medical bag down on the end of the bed, followed by his hat.
The old man in the bed coughed again. "I've had this damn cough for a while now. I can't shake it," he muttered in slight embarrassment.
Doc nodded, and picked up the General's wrist while he pulled his watch from his vest pocket. Doc tilted the watch to the window for better light and once he got the answer he was looking for let go of the General and poked his watch back into the vest pocket. Doc frowned slightly as he opened his medical bag and pulled out his stethoscope, this time he hovered over the old man on the bed. Doc moved the instrument around over the General's chest and nodded, "Well it isn't pneumonia," he said pulled the stethoscope from his neck.
"Well what is it then?" Randall quickly asked.
"A really good chest cold," Doc stated with a tick of his head.
"And they call you a doctor?" the General growled.
Doc also lashed out at the old man, "I came here out of common courtesy to look you over," he said with an even tone in his voice. "If you don't like my diagnostics then, maybe you should find another doctor, and good luck with that in this town," Doc stated and was ready to pack up and leave, but the General grabbed him by the sleeve. "I saw men die just from a cough in the war. I don't want to die that way," his narrowed at the doctor.
"So did I," Doc said with sorrow. "There wasn't much I could do for most of them," he lamented.
"What side were you on?" the General had to ask.
Doc's eyes narrowed, "Does it really matter now?"
The General pondered the question, "I suppose not, but I'd like to know," he tried to bridge the gap he had created.
Doc grunted in slight amusement. "Let's just say I spent much of my time at Libby, and not as a doctor for the guards. I tried to look after the sick and wounded that I was imprisoned with," he stated.
"The Union side," the General nodded with satisfaction. "Good man," he added as he let go of the doctor's coat sleeve.
Doc blinked, "Am I?" he questioned the General's comment, as he brushed his right hand across his moustache.
The General studied the doctor, "I think so. Anyone under the conditions at Libby and was still able to offer whatever they could to help seems to be a good man," he reasoned.
"There was little I could do for most of those men. We have no food or supplies. Too many died from the elements alone," Doc busied himself with some pill bottles hoping not to talk about it any more.
"I know about Libby," the General grunted. "Sorry we didn't get there sooner," he stated.
Doc wasn't sure if the General meant that he was one involved in the prison libration or as a whole that the Union army didn't get there sooner. He chose not to ask. "I suggest that you continue with the mustard plasters for another two days and I'll reassess you at that time. And, I want you to take two of these in the morning and two at night, for the same time," he placed a pill bottle on the table next to the bed.
"Thanks for looking at him," Randall said stepping further into the room. He could see that his father was not impressed with the doctor's medical suggestion.
"I'll check in on him a little later," Doc said as he snapped the medical bag closed and picked it up from the bed. "Make sure you give him the pills," he pointed to the bottle. Randall nodded and watched the doctor leave the room.
"I don't want another mustard plaster," the General growled.
"The doctor knows what he's doing," Randall stated and he prepared the mixture.
"I'm not so certain," the old man huffed. "Old Doctor Turner. Now he was a good doctor," the General added.
"He's also been dead for some ten years," Randall reminded his father.
"He was still a better doctor," the old man huffed as he watched Randall with the mustard plaster.
"Just give Doctor Adams a chance. He knows what he's going," Randall pleaded.
The General brushed his hands in the air, "I guess we'll see in a few days," he slowly conceded to the doctor's orders and allowed his son to apply the wrap.