Charlie went behind the counter, returned with forceps, opening and closing the jaws of the instrument two or three times as if in practice and then he turned to the sufferer: “You understand it’s against the law for me to use these things. In a pinch—”
“To hell with the law,” Ben snapped. “Yank it out!”
Charlie took a chair to the back porch. Ben sat down and with a vice-like arm about Ben’s head, the forceps went in and the tooth came out.
I went outside and sat on the bench with a better understanding of Shoshone and people and values which come only from friendships closely knitted and help unselfishly given.
Why does a man like the desert? As good an answer as any is another question: Why does he like chicken? Students of human behavior, poets, writers, gushing debutantes and greying dowagers, humorless scientists, and bored urbanites have labored mightily to explain it.
“Something just gets into the blood,” one says, frankly groping for an answer. Immensities of space. Solitudes that whittle the ego down to size. Detachment from routine cares. A feel of nearness to whatever it is that is God. Stars to finger. The muted symphonies of farflung sky and earth.
Whatever it is, I was now aware that as between hell and Shoshone, I would give the nod to Shoshone. I was getting used to Shoshone and desolation when a few days later Charlie came out of the store and sat beside me on the bench. “Road’s open,” he said. “I reckon you’re in a hurry to get away.”
I didn’t answer at once but conscious of his searching look, finally stammered that Dan Modine wanted me to go with him to Happy Jack’s party. “I can spare another day....” Charlie lit a cigarette, took a puff or two. “You’ve gone desert,” he chuckled and went back into the store.
For a week I’d been hearing of Happy Jack’s party and when Dan told me that everyone within 100 miles would be on hand, I was glad to go. Dan gave me Jack’s background on the 35 mile trip across dry washes, deep sands, and hairpin turns on pitching hills.
Born on the desert, Jack was the son of a Forty Niner and a Piute squaw. He had grown up as an Indian and had married Mary, a full blood Piute. Jack’s brother Lem married Anna, another squaw.