Three months later I was in that section again; after the Sabbath morning services, at Mt. Olive, I went to Laurel, some miles away, to fill an evening appointment. After riding quite a distance along a high ridge, which overlooks all the country around it, I turned down a little ravine which lead to Laurelrun; but suddenly my cogitations were interrupted by a big, burly sixfooter, who knew of my coming and was waiting for me. Stepping in front of my horse, he blurted out, “Are you the feller what wrote that piece in the paper about me?” I replied that I did not know who he was, or what “piece” he referred to. “I’m one of them fighters you wrote about in the _Star_,” he said, “but what you writ wasn’t true, so I thought I would wait for you here.” In the meantime we were both moving slowly down the hill, and he was at my side. If ever I did hard, double-quick thinking, it was then. I knew what he was there for, and a general mix-up seemed inevitable. I at once decided on a policy. I would talk him out of any evil intent he might have, if it were possible to do so; if not, and nothing else would suffice, I would get off my horse and stay with him just as many rounds as I could, with the hope that somebody might come along and help me out, if help was needed. I began to explain how and where I got my information, and how I felt over such unbecoming conduct on the way from divine worship. At this point he interjected the remark that my informant was a liar, using adjectives and expletives which would not look well in print. But I kept on with my speech, using all the eloquence and fervor at my command. I expatiated on the sacredness of worship, and portrayed in the most vivid colors possible the beauty and praiseworthiness of the young man who honors the gospel, and loves and lives in peace with all men. Though there was blood in his eye at the start, I soon observed that I was gaining on him. By and by he began to sanction what I said. It was clear that I had his attention, so I kept on talking something good to him until he finally stopped me as abruptly as when we first met, saying, “Wal, I guess I’le go back. I kinder thought I’d like to ax you about it. Good-by.” What a feeling of relief came to me as the fellow disappeared. A scrap, and possibly something worse, had been avoided. I at once decided, however, that the country editor thereafter would have to look elsewhere for information when such brawls occurred. Such a narrow escape from—I did not know what—convinced me that at least in that particular locality the work of a newspaper correspondent was incompatible with that of a presiding elder.