According to the _Gazette_, Washington's overseer had,
on one occasion, torn down the Dixon fence and let the cattle into the
field, and various similar annoyances were resorted to in order to force
Dixon to move away. But Dixon would neither surrender nor compromise,
and kept on cultivating his little farm in defiance of the man who had
been first in war and was now first in peace.

"It was last Thursday about the hour of noon," says the _Gazette_, "when
General Washington rode up to Mr. Dixon's gate. He was mounted on his
white mule, which had come down the broad road on his famous fox-trot of
eight miles an hour. There was fire in the General's eye and his under
lip protruded far, betokening war. His riding-boots shone in the sun, as
did his gold spurs. His hair was tied with a gorgeous black ribbon, and
his face was pale with resolution. Mr. Dixon and his family were
adjusting themselves for dinner, when they heard the call at the gate.
There was a most animated conversation between these two neighbors, in
which the General informed the humble settler that he must receive a
certain sum for his disputed title or submit to be dispossessed.
Whereupon Mr. Dixon, who was also a Revolutionary soldier, and felt that
he has some rights in this country, informed the lordly neighbor that
the land was his own, that he had paid for it and built houses thereon,
the children were born to him on it, and that he would defend it with
his life. Continuing, he charged the general with inciting his employes
to depredate on the fences and fields. It was natural that this should
arouse the mettle of the modern Mars. He flew into a towering rage, and
applied many epithets to Mr. Dixon that are not warranted by the Ten
Commandments. He even went so far as to raise his riding-whip and to
threaten personal violence. Mr. Dixon is a man of few words, but a high
temper, and, not caring to have his home and family thus offended, he
gave the general one minute to move away while he rushed into his house
for his deer rifle. There are none who doubt the valor of the general;
but there may be a few who do not credit him with that discretion which
is so valuable a part of valor. Suffice it for the ends of this
chronicle to say that it required only a few moments for him to turn the
gray mule's head towards Mount Vernon, and, in less time than it takes
to here relate, the noble animal was distancing the Dixon homestead with
gallant speed. It was no fox