Entertaining such partiality, we may be pardoned for following Mike in one of his most stirring adventures, related in his peculiar and expressive vernacular.
“I’m one of the peaceablest fellers,” said Mike, “that ever trotted on hind legs, and rather than git into er fuss ’bout nothin’, I’d let er chap spit on me, but when it comes to rubbin’ it in, I always in gen’rally kinder r’ars up an’ won’t stan’ it.
“But there’s some fellers up in Yazoo what would rather git into er scrimmage than eat; an I’ve seen er few up thar what war so hungry for er fight, that they fell away an’ got so poor an’ thin that they had to lean up agin er saplin’ to cuss!
“That chap Arch Coony was er few in that line. He was the durndest, rantankerous hossfly that ever clum er tree! I’ll tell you what, ef I hadn’t er bin thar I wouldn’t er b’leeved it: I seed him one day in Satartia git up from er jug of whiskey, when he hadn’t drunk morn’n half of it, and leave t’other half to spile, and go an’ pitch into er privit spoute ’twene two Injuns, when he didn’t care er durn cent which walloped t’other, an’ lammin’ both on um out’n ther mockasins!
“Well, you see, Arch was mighty fond o’ them kind a tricks, an’ if he seed er fellow he thought he could lamm without no danger, he wouldn’t make no bones, but he’d just go up to the chap and make faces at him, and harry his feelings er bit; and ef the fellow showed spunky like, he’d let him alone, an’ ax him to take a drink; but if he sorter tried to sidle out of it, Arch would git as mad as all wrath, an’ swar, an’ cuss, an r’ar, an’ charge like er ram at er gate-post; and the fust thing you knowed, he’d shuck off his coat, an’ when the feller warn’t ’spectin’ nuthin’, Arch would fetch him er side wipe on the head, and knock him into the middle of next week.
“You see I didn’t like them sort of doings much, me, myself, I didn’t; and I all’ays, ef ever I got er chance at Arch, I’d let him down a buttonhole or two. He was gittin’ too high up in the pictures, ennyhow; and sez I one day, in er crowd, sez I:
“ ‘Ef that feller Arch Coony don’t mind which side of his bread’s buttered, I’ll git hold of him one of those days, an’ I’ll make him see sights.’
“Well, you see there was two or three sheep-stealing chaps listenin’ to what I sed, an’ they goes and tells Arch the fust chance I got I was gwine to larrup him. Well, that riled him like all fury, and as soon as he hearn it he begins er cussin’ like wrath, and sez he:
“ ‘Dod rot that ole Mike Hooter. He pertend to be a preacher. His preachin’ ain’t nothin’ but loud hollerin’ nohow.’
“So you see them same chaps, they comes an’ tells me what Arch had sed; an’ I got mad too, an’ we had the durndest rumpus in the neighbourhood you ever hearn.