"Get your tools out, Needle. Here's your foot."
Despite their efforts, the foot was working back and forth so fast that Johnson was unable to do anything with it.
"Pass a rope around it. That's the way we used to rope cattle out west. That's the idea."
A line was passed about Hickey's ankle and made fast to a stanchion.
"All right, Needle, drive the color in deep, so it won't wash out."
"Give him two pig's feet," suggested another. "He'll have better luck if you do."
"I'll trim the whole bunch of you for this," growled a voice from the bottom of the pile.
The jackies laughed loudly.
"Me fix him, me fix him," snarled Black, at that instant jumping into the pile, his face contorted with rage.
"You get out and mind your own business," advised one of the men. "You got yours; now run along and be good. Take your white friend along with you, while you are about it, or we'll paint both of you."