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 been some narcotic in the dose, for Ben had been feeling dazed ever since, and his dull-eyed, stupefied look may have struck the faker.

At any rate, he came to the edge of the platform and said: "Well now, here's some one needs this great nosterum. Eh, sonny? Come up here." And taking Ben under the arm, he lifted him to the stage.

The crowd laughed. Benjamin McNeil Murdock was then an overgrown young dolt, shock-haired and open-mouthed, in a torn shirt and a pair of his father's patched overalls, and nothing else. He had no hat. He was barefooted. The medicine man held him by the shoulder and he hung his head sheepishly. He was supposed to be half-witted, and he looked it.

"What's the matter, bub?" the man asked. "Sick?"

Ben did not answer. The man put a firm, cool hand under his chin, tilted his head back, and studied him.

"Toothache, eh?" he said. "Fine! This here's a suverin remedy for toothache. Also fer trouble with the eyes. This boy," he told the audience, "is near dead with toothache, an' it's afflictin' his eyes."

Ben began to blink. He was held facing a kerosene-torch that shone directly in his eyes.

"He can't look at a light without feelin' sleepy. He can't keep his eyes open. This here pain has worn him out. He's dog-tired. His eyes is tired."