You see my dander was up.

And when my dander's up, I wouldn't gin up fer the devil his-self.
The preacher was so insultin' with his way of doin' it.

He seemed to be kind of glad that we was to be damned, and he preached somethin' like some folks swears.

It didn't sound a bit like the Christ the little man preached about the night afore.

So what does me and a lot of fellers do but slip out and cut off the big preacher's stirrups, and hang 'em on to the rider of the fence, and then set his hoss loose! And from that day, sometimes I did, and sometimes I didn't, want to be better.