ANTOINE GARDAPEE. 245 



some dentist; I can't do it, and that is all there is 

 about it." 



"Now look-a here. See how I'll fix da mole for 

 pull-a toot'." And he showed me how he had ruined a 

 good bullet mould to make a poor pair of forceps. He 

 had taken one of the files which we brought to sharpen 

 our axes, and had filed off the outsides of the mould into 

 the cavity until the thing resembled a blacksmith's 

 pincers. Then he had roughened the tips to make a grip 

 for them, and had actually hollowed the edges to fit his 

 tooth. I looked the thing over with conflicting emo- 

 tions. Here was an instrument of torture which in ex- 

 pert hands might relieve suffering, but in mine seemed 

 sure to increase it. One thing was certain, Antoine was 

 in earnest; he was desperate; no suicide was ever more 

 so. He watched my face, and after a while said: "Wat 

 you say, hey?" 



"I say that I want to help you out of your agony, but 

 I don't believe I can do it." 



"You 'fraid you hurt me, hey?" 



"Yes, Antoine, that's just it; I'm afraid I will hurt 

 you, and not do you any good." 



"I'll tole you, he mak' no dif. I'll gat all da hurt. 

 Wat for you 'fraid? You no getta hurt; come on, I'll 

 tak' da chance; you tole how you want me for set down 

 so you pull da bes'." 



Putting fresh logs on the fire, and bringing in some 

 brush to make a bright light, for the old man would not 

 wait until morning, I looked at the offending tooth. For 

 the benefit of my dentist friends, who have given me the 

 most exquisite form of torture applied to man in modern 

 days, I will say that the offending tooth was a pre-molar 

 on the right side of the lower jaw. 



Antoine laid himself on the floor, and I sat with my 



