It was just like I said, this Injun's white keys was wore off short and looked like they needed something, so we laid ourselves out to supply the want. We didn't exactly fill them teeth; we merely riveted on a sort of a plowshare--a gold sod-cutter about the size of your finger-nail. How Mike got it to stick I don't know, but he must have picked up quite a number of dentist's tricks before I came. Anyhow, there she hung like a brass name-plate, and she didn't wabble hardly at all. You'd of been surprised to see what a difference it made in that redskin's looks. We let our patient up finally and put a lookin'-glass in his hand. At first he didn't know just what to make of that fillin'; but when he seen it was real gold a grin broke over his face, his chest swelled up, and he walked out of the office and across the street to a novelty store. In a minute out he came with a little round lookin'-glass and a piece of buckskin, and the last we seen of him he was hikin' down the street, grinnin' into that mirror as happy as a child and polishin' that tusk like it had started to rust. "Which I sure entitle a gratifyin' operation," said Mike. "I'm in no ways proud of the job," I told him. "I feel like I'd salted a mine." Well, me and Mike lived in them dental parlors for a couple of weeks, decoyin' occasional natives into it, pullin', spilin', fillin', and filin' more teeth than a few, but bimeby the sport got tame. One day Mike was fakin' variations on his guitar, and I was washin' dishes, when I said: "This line is about as excitin' as a game of jack-straws. D'you know it's foot-racin' time with the Injuns?" "What?" "Sure. They're gettin' together at old Port Lewis to run races this week. One tribe or the other goes broke and walks home every year. If we could meet up with the winnin' crowd, down on the La Plata--" I didn't have to say no more, for I had a hackamore on Mike's attention right there, and he quit climbin' the "G" string and put up his box. The next day we traded out of the tooth business and rode south down the old Navajo trail. We picked a good campin' spot--a little "flat" in a bend of the river where the grazin' was good--and we turned the ponies out. We didn't have to wait long. A few evenings later, as we et supper we heard a big noise around the bend and knew our visitors was comin'. They must of had three hundred head of horses, besides a big outfit of blankets, buckskin, baskets, and all the plunder that an Injun outfit travels with. At sight of us in their campin'-place they halted, and the squaws and the children rode up to get a look at us. I stepped out in front of our tent and throwed my hand to my forehead, shading my eyes--that's the Injun sign of friendship. An old chief and a couple of warriors rode forrad, Winchester to pommel, but, seein' we was alone, they sheathed their guns, and we invited 'em to eat. It didn't take much urgin'. While we fed hot biscuits to the head men the squaws pitched camp.