[8] I borrowed this term from Jim Inman, at the time: “Why, Jim,” said I to him, just as he rose from a fight, “what have you been doing?” “Oh,” said he, “nothing but taking a little _rotation_ with Bob McManus.” V. HOW MIKE HOOTER CAME VERY NEAR “WALLOPING” ARCH COONY. In the Yazoo Hills, near the town of Sartartia, in the good State of Mississippi, there lived at no distant date one Mike Hooter, whose hunting and preaching adventures became famous in all the land. Besides being a great bear-hunter and hard to beat at preaching, Mike professed to be “considerable” of a fighter, and in a regular knock-down and drag-out row was hard to beat. In order that the world may not remain in darkness as to his doings in this last behalf, and fearing lest there may be no one who entertains for him that particularly warm regard which animates us towards him, we have thought it incumbent on us, in evidence of our attachment for the reverend hero, to jot down an instance that lingers in our memory respecting him, bequeathing it as a rich legacy to remotest time. 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.