Mr. Peter Dinsmore was of both an impulsive and obstinate disposition.He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it. Somewhere he had heard thatif a man desired his business well done, he must do it himself. Gurleyhad proved a poor messenger. Peter would call upon Clint Wadley inperson and arrange an armistice.
He had another and a more urgent reason for getting to town promptly. Ajumping toothache had kept him awake all night. After he reachedTascosa, Dinsmore was annoyed to find that Dr. Bridgman had ridden downthe river to look after the fractured leg of a mule-skinner.
"Isn't there any one else in this condemned burg can pull teeth?" hedemanded irritably of the bartender at the Bird Cage.
"There certainly is. Buttermilk Brown is a sure-enough dentist. He hadto take to bull-whackin' for to make a livin', but I reckon he's notforgot how. You'll probably find him sleepin' off a hang-over at theFour-Bit Corral."
This prophecy proved true, but Dinsmore was not one to let trifles turnhim aside. He led the reluctant ex-dentist to a water-trough and sousedhis head under the pump.
"Is that a-plenty?" he asked presently, desisting from his exercise withthe pump-handle.
Buttermilk sputtered a half-drowned assent. His nerves were still jumpy,and his head was not clear, but he had had enough cold water. Heroictreatment of this sort was not necessary to fit him for pulling a tooth.
They adjourned to the room where Buttermilk had stored his professionaltools. Dinsmore indicated the back tooth that had to come out. Thedentist peered at it, inserted his forceps and set to work. The toothcame out hard, but at last he exhibited its long prongs to the torturedvictim.
"We get results," said Buttermilk proudly.
"How much?" asked Pete.
It happened that the dentist did not know his patient. He put a price offive dollars on the job. Dinsmore paid it and walked with Buttermilk tothe nearest saloon for a drink.
Pete needed a little bracer. The jumping pain still pounded like apiledriver at his jaw. While the bartender was handing him a glass and abottle, Dinsmore caressed tenderly the aching emptiness and made ahorrible discovery. Buttermilk Brown had pulled the wrong tooth.
Considering his temperament, Pete showed remarkable self-restraint. Hedid not slay Buttermilk violently and instantly. Instead he led him backto the room of torture.
"You pulled the wrong tooth, you drunken wreck," he said in effect, butin much more emphatic words. "Now yank out the right one, and if youmake another mistake--"
He did not finish the threat, but it is possible that Buttermilkunderstood. The dentist removed with difficulty the diseased molar.
"Well, we're through now," he said cheerfully. "I don't know as I oughtto charge you for that last one. I'll leave that to you to say."
"We're not quite through," corrected the patient. "I'm goin' to teachyou to play monkey-shines with Pete Dinsmore's teeth." He laid a largerevolver on the table and picked up the forceps. "Take that chair, youbowlegged, knock-kneed, run-down runt."
Buttermilk protested in vain. He begged the bad-man for mercy with tearsin his eyes.
"I'm goin' to do Scripture to you, and then some," explained Dinsmore."It says in the Bible a tooth for a tooth, but I aim to pay goodmeasure."
The amateur dentist pulled four teeth and played no favorites. A molar,a bicuspid, a canine, and an incisor were laid in succession on thetable.
Buttermilk Brown wept with rage and pain.
"Four times five is twenty. Dig up twenty dollars for professionalservices," said Pete.
His tearful patient paid the fee. This was the most painful, violent,and high-handed episode of Buttermilk's young life. Never inShelbyville, Indiana, from which town he had migrated hopefully westwardwith his diploma, had such outrages been heard of.
The instruments of Providence are sometimes strange ones. Nobody wouldhave picked Pete Dinsmore for a reformer, but he changed the course ofone young dentist's life. Buttermilk fled from the Southwest in horror,took the pledge eagerly, returned to Shelbyville and married the belleof the town. He became a specialist in bridge-work, of which he carrieda golden example in his own mouth. His wife has always understood thatDr. Brown--nobody ever called him Buttermilk in his portly, prosperousIndiana days--lost his teeth trying to save a child from a runaway. Bethat as it may, there is no record that he ever again pulled the wrongtooth for a patient.
Having completed his deed of justice, Dinsmore in high good humor withhimself set out to call on Clint Wadley. He had made an inoffensivehuman being suffer, and that is always something to a man's credit. Ifhe could not do any better, Pete would bully a horse, but he naturallypreferred humans. They were more sensitive to pain.