Here's what happened.
Jethro and I were struggling on the train tracks. Blows thrown again and again, we staggered against each other, asking neither quarter nor mercy, yielding not to the other.
Then we heard the train whistle.
I glanced quickly at the sound. There, far down the tracks, was an approaching train. My blood went cold at the sight. Jethro was blind, his glasses fogged with sweat, and he continued to punch and kick as if he hadn't seen anything. He swung his leg at mine, trying to knock me off balance. I cursed at him. "You fool!" I yelled. "Look around you! If we don't help each other, we'll die!"
"Good!" snarled Jethro, his beard thick with blood. "Then that's the way it shall be!"
Irritated, I shook my head, glancing quickly at the bright light of the train as it grew closer. Jethro's massive weight made him too heavy for me to pick him up, so I put everything I had into shoving him back. He staggered, flailing, his knuckles white as he gripped his bible. I gave his belly a kick, then leapt upon him as he tumbled to his back. The Midnight Special roared angrily by, just inches from our struggling bodies.
As the train whistle grew faint in the distance, I rose to my feet wobbily, wiping my brow with the sleeve of my leather jacket. Jethro lay on his back, glaring up at me. I shook my head again and laughed.
"Do you yield?" I asked. Jethro chewed on his mustache, thinking this over. Finally he nodded and reached out his hand. I gripped it and pulled him to his feet, meeting his gaze of reluctant respect with one of my own. I laughed again as Jethro farted. Several times. He allowed the farts to seep into the air, then turned away and limped toward his unicycle, which had toppled to the dirt during our fight.
"Come on," he muttered. "I'll give you a ride."