"With pleasure. I am the coroner. Don't hurry on my account. I can wait for you. But I wish I had a match."
I said—"Take my place, and I'll go and get you one."
He declined. This lack of confidence on his part created a coldness between us, and from that time forward I avoided him. It was my idea, in case anything happened to me, to so time the occurrence as to throw my custom into the hands of the opposition coroner over on the American side.
At last a policeman came along, and arrested me for disturbing the peace by yelling at the people on shore for help. The judge fined me, but I had the advantage of him. My money was with my pantaloons and my pantaloons were with the Indians.
Thus I escaped. I am now lying in a very critical condition. At least I am lying anyway—critical or not critical. I am hurt all over, but I cannot tell the full extent yet, because the doctor is not done taking inventory. He will make out my manifest this evening. However, thus far he thinks only sixteen of my wounds are fatal. I don't mind the others.
Upon regaining my right mind, I said—
"It is an awful savage tribe of Indians that do the bead work and moccasins for Niagara Falls, doctor. Where are they from?"
"Limerick, my son."
