He landed with the bug-killer on top--and the bug-killer failed to remove his person as speedily as true courtesy exacted.
Andy kicked and wriggled and tried to remember what was that high-colored, vituperative sentence that Irish had invented over a stubborn sheep, that he might repeat it to the bug-killer.

The herder from Wyoming ran up, caught Andy's horse, and untied Andy's rope from the saddle.
"Good fer you, Oscar," he praised the bug-killer.

"Hang onto him while I take a few turns." He thereupon helped force Andy's arms to his side, and wound the rope several times rather tightly around Andy's outraged, squirming person.
"Oh, it ain't goin' to do yuh no good to buck 'n bawl," admonished the tier.

"I learnt this here little trick down in Wyoming.

A bunch uh punchers done it to me--and I've been just achin' all over fer a chance to return the favor to some uh you gay boys.