Once in a while the rider, lazy, or careless, or bothered by the press of numbers, dragged up a victim caught by the neck.

The bull-doggers flatly refused to have anything to do with it.
An obvious way out would have been to flip off the loop and try again; but of course that would have amounted to a confession of wrong.
"You fellows drive me plumb weary," remarked the rider, slowly dismounting.

"A little bit of a calf like that! What you all need is a nigger to cut up your food for you!" Then he would spit on his hands and go at it alone.

If luck attended his first effort, his sarcasm was profound.
"There's yore little calf," said he.

"Would you like to have me tote it to you, or do you reckon you could toddle this far with yore little old iron ?" But if the calf gave much trouble, then all work ceased while the unfortunate puncher wrestled it down.
Toward noon the work slacked.