"High-strung animal, that clay-bank o' Pink's."
Pink's temper was in that state where he enjoyed hugely gibes at his friends' expense, but was in no mood to receive amiably jests directed against himself.
"Whar's you-all's horse?" he shouted, in exasperation, to one of his tormentors. "Ah reckon no one would len' you anythin' mo' vallyble 'n a billy-goat. Now dry up. Pete, start this thing."
He rode to the end of the passage where the horsemen were gathering. Alf Lance, Melissa's father, whose horses Bud and Pink were riding, scanned them both to make sure that they were not too drunk to be trusted with his animals.
Pete fussed about nervously.
"Which o' you gents will begin dis pullin'?" he called. "Now, sahs, come on."
Pink pushed his horse towards the edge of the crowd, but he was hailed with dissuasive cries.
"Aw, hold on, Pink."
"Don' be so bigoty."
"Who you-all think ye are?"