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milliways_bar2006-01-10 07:58 pm
deadwood-doc.livejournal.com) wrote in milliways_bar2006-01-10 07:58 pm
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It had been a long day. A couple of new arrivals to camp -- brothers -- had decided to try and double their money at the Bella Union. Someone should have warned them that, in the end, the house always wins.
They lost everything.
That's when the shooting started.
After it was all said and done, one of the brothers was dead. He was the lucky one; the other had taken a scattergun shot to the gut. Doc Cochran had worked on him for hours in one of Bella Union's rooms (with Cy standing over his shoulder constantly dropping cigar ashes into the boy's wounds), but in the end there wasn't much he could do but tell the whore who'd been serving as the informal nurse to bring up a bottle of whiskey and try to keep him as comfortable as she could until he passed. Dying from a gut wound is a long and painful experience.
And so it is that Doctor Amos Cochran, a half-empty bottle of his own whiskey in hand, stumbles into his office which also serves as his home. At least, that was the plan.
The bottle drops from his hand and shatters on the floor as he stares wide-eyed at his surroundings. His voice is gravelly and sounds as if the soul behind it is three times older than the body that carries it. "What in God's name is going on?"
They lost everything.
That's when the shooting started.
After it was all said and done, one of the brothers was dead. He was the lucky one; the other had taken a scattergun shot to the gut. Doc Cochran had worked on him for hours in one of Bella Union's rooms (with Cy standing over his shoulder constantly dropping cigar ashes into the boy's wounds), but in the end there wasn't much he could do but tell the whore who'd been serving as the informal nurse to bring up a bottle of whiskey and try to keep him as comfortable as she could until he passed. Dying from a gut wound is a long and painful experience.
And so it is that Doctor Amos Cochran, a half-empty bottle of his own whiskey in hand, stumbles into his office which also serves as his home. At least, that was the plan.
The bottle drops from his hand and shatters on the floor as he stares wide-eyed at his surroundings. His voice is gravelly and sounds as if the soul behind it is three times older than the body that carries it. "What in God's name is going on?"