"You're on the wrong side," I told him.
"Mebbe I am. Here's one that looks like it would come loose easier." Mike got a half-Nelson over in the east-half-east quarter-section of the buck's mouth and throwed his weight on the pliers.
The Injun had pretty well wore himself out by this time, and when he felt those ice-tongs he just stiffened out—an Injun's dead game that-away; he won't make a holler when you hurt him. His squaw was hangin' around with her eyes poppin' out, but we didn't pay no attention to her.
Somehow Mike's pinchers kept jumpin' the track and at every slip a new wrinkle showed in the patient's face—patient is the right word, all right—and we didn't make no more show at loosenin' that tusk than as if we'd tried to pull up Mount Bill Williams with a silk thread. At last two big tears come into the buck's eyes and rolled down his cheeks. First time I ever seen one cry.
Now that weakness was plumb fatal to him, for right there and then he cracked his plate with his missus. Yes, sir, he tore his shirt-waist proper. The squaw straightened up and give him a look—oh, what a look!
"Waugh!" she sniffed. "Injun heap big squaw!" And with that she swished out of the office and left him flat. Yes, sir, she just blew him on the spot.
I s'pose Mike would have got that tooth somehow—he's a perseverin' party—only that I happened to notice something queer and called him off.
"Here, wait a minute," said I, and I loosened him from the man's chest. Mike was so engorsed in the pursuit of his profession that he was astraddle of his patient's wishbone, gougin' away like a quartz miner. "Take your elbow out of his mouth and lemme talk to him a minute." When the savage had got his features together, I said to him, "How you catch um bump, hey?" And I pointed to his jaw.
"Bzz-zz-zz!" said he.
I turned to Doctor Butters. "Hornet!" I declared.