Member
Chris Buckwood
Buck stuck his head at the window. The sounds of gunfire had ceased, and the figures of fleeing bandits could be seen scrambling back to whatever hole they crawled out of.
As Chris did so, the doctor continued talking.
"And this...Yuritide-"
"Yurithride."
"...Yurithride, you say, substantially assists in the disinfecting of wounds?"
"Indeed so, friend. Apply to a wound of any caliber that you've already treated normally, and your patient will recover much quicker, feel much better, and recommend your services to any of his other friends; word of mouth is important to aspiring business men like you, you'll see."
"Well, this sounds too good to be true!"
"That's what they said about the telegram, the railway, and the cotton gin; I'm sure they said it about the wheel, or fire, or the printing press. This discovery is nothing compared to those great revelations, and people probably cried "too good!" at all of those. There's no reason to not believe this simple innovation." Buckwood's Georgian voice was smooth as butter.
"...I suppose you're right. How much?"
"For thirty doses, it'd usually a dollar each..."
"Thirty dollars-!?"
"-But! But. But, I am willing to discount the price because we've became acquaintances in these troubling times. Twenty-five dollars for thirty doses. Let me remind you doctor, that this is an investment, and a wise one at that. With all of the new customers I'm certain you'll be drawing it, you'll have made back your hard earned cash and then some before March is rolling in."
The doctor's eyes glazed over for a moment, thinking his next decision through. Buckwood watched eagerly, those his face showed only honesty and trustworthiness.
"Okay. I'll buy them."
Buckwood smiled. "Thank you for your business doctor. And thank you for saving lives. You've done a good thing here, today." The two men shook hands.
A brief moment later, pocketing his twenty five dollars and leaving the doctors shop with a friendly wave, Buck inwardly calculated the profit of selling thirty glass vials of salt water.
He didn't feel bad, as usual. It's not like he sold the doctor poison. Salt was good for wounds anyway, Chris thought. It'd set him back a few months profit, but the doctor'd survive.
In the meantime, Christ hefted his briefcase full of "goods" and examined the saloon from a distance. Multiple windows were shattered, bullets had dug their way into the wooden walls, and more than one corpse lay in the sand, roasting by the morning sun. Lovely.
"Everything alright, friends?" Buck cupped his mouth with his free hand, calling out to any survivors in the saloon.
Buck stuck his head at the window. The sounds of gunfire had ceased, and the figures of fleeing bandits could be seen scrambling back to whatever hole they crawled out of.
As Chris did so, the doctor continued talking.
"And this...Yuritide-"
"Yurithride."
"...Yurithride, you say, substantially assists in the disinfecting of wounds?"
"Indeed so, friend. Apply to a wound of any caliber that you've already treated normally, and your patient will recover much quicker, feel much better, and recommend your services to any of his other friends; word of mouth is important to aspiring business men like you, you'll see."
"Well, this sounds too good to be true!"
"That's what they said about the telegram, the railway, and the cotton gin; I'm sure they said it about the wheel, or fire, or the printing press. This discovery is nothing compared to those great revelations, and people probably cried "too good!" at all of those. There's no reason to not believe this simple innovation." Buckwood's Georgian voice was smooth as butter.
"...I suppose you're right. How much?"
"For thirty doses, it'd usually a dollar each..."
"Thirty dollars-!?"
"-But! But. But, I am willing to discount the price because we've became acquaintances in these troubling times. Twenty-five dollars for thirty doses. Let me remind you doctor, that this is an investment, and a wise one at that. With all of the new customers I'm certain you'll be drawing it, you'll have made back your hard earned cash and then some before March is rolling in."
The doctor's eyes glazed over for a moment, thinking his next decision through. Buckwood watched eagerly, those his face showed only honesty and trustworthiness.
"Okay. I'll buy them."
Buckwood smiled. "Thank you for your business doctor. And thank you for saving lives. You've done a good thing here, today." The two men shook hands.
A brief moment later, pocketing his twenty five dollars and leaving the doctors shop with a friendly wave, Buck inwardly calculated the profit of selling thirty glass vials of salt water.
He didn't feel bad, as usual. It's not like he sold the doctor poison. Salt was good for wounds anyway, Chris thought. It'd set him back a few months profit, but the doctor'd survive.
In the meantime, Christ hefted his briefcase full of "goods" and examined the saloon from a distance. Multiple windows were shattered, bullets had dug their way into the wooden walls, and more than one corpse lay in the sand, roasting by the morning sun. Lovely.
"Everything alright, friends?" Buck cupped his mouth with his free hand, calling out to any survivors in the saloon.