"Was there a
dentist in the place?"
I looked at Jack: he looked at me: Ellen groaned with pain.
"Why, yes! of course there is," said this man for emergencies;
"Fisher takes out teeth, he told me so the other day."
Now I did not believe that Fisher knew any more about extracting
teeth than I did myself, but I breathed a prayer to the Recording
Angel, and said naught.
"I'll go get Fisher," said Jack.
Now Fisher was the steamboat agent. He stood six feet in his
stockings, had a powerful physique and a determined eye. Men in
those countries had to be determined; for if they once lost
their nerve, Heaven save them. Fisher had handsome black eyes.
When they came in, I said: "Can you attend to this business, Mr.
Fisher?"
"I think so," he replied, quietly. "The Quartermaster says he has
some forceps."
I gasped. Jack, who had left the room, now appeared, a box of
instruments in his hand, his eyes shining with joy and triumph.
Fisher took the box, and scanned it. "I guess they'll do," said
he.
So we placed Ellen in a chair, a stiff barrack chair, with a
raw-hide seat, and no arms.
It was evening.
"Mattie, you must hold the candle," said Jack. "I'll hold Ellen,
and, Fisher, you pull the tooth."
So I lighted the candle, and held it, while Ellen tried, by its
flickering light, to show Fisher the tooth that ached.
