Part 20 (2/2)
Zigler involuntarily recoiled. The frowning muzzle of the pistol, the unmistakable meaning of those words, and the deadly purpose expressed in the cold, calm face before him, were too much even for his boasted bravery. He turned pale and drew back, muttering and growling.
”Coward!” exclaimed Webster, ”if I served you right I would shoot you down like a dog; and I am afraid I can't resist the temptation to do so anyway, if you don't immediately leave the room. Go! and in future be careful who you accuse of being in league with the accursed Yankees.”
By this time a number of the other men had recovered from their astonishment, and they immediately joined their threats to those of Webster, commanding Zigler to leave the saloon at once, if he desired to ”save his bacon.”
Zigler did not dare to disobey. Sullenly putting up his knife, and muttering curses on the whole crowd, he slunk out, stopping at the door long enough to glance back at Webster, with the exclamation:
”I'll fix you yet, d--n you!”
When he was gone, Webster said:
”I cannot conceive what that fellow has against me, that he should try to defame my character by such an accusation.”
Several of the men broke into a derisive laugh.
”I'd as soon suspect Jeff Davis of being a Yankee spy,” said one, with a boisterous guffaw.
”Lord, Webster,” spoke up another, ”you needn't calculate that anything that fellow can say is going to injure you with the people here.”
”I reckon Zigler is mad because you won't clique in with him and his gang,” said a third. ”n.o.body takes any stock in him. It would have been considered a good riddance if your pistol had gone off while it covered his heart. Bah! he isn't worth a thought. Come, boys, let's licker.”
And the affair ended in a witty cross-fire of jokes, frequent explosions of hearty laughter, and numerous b.u.mpers of sparkling wine.
So far from proving disastrous to Webster or his mission, this little episode with Bill Zigler rather elevated him in the estimation of his companions. The neat knock-down with which he had met the bully's unprovoked a.s.sault; his air of virtuous indignation in resenting the imputation of disloyalty to the South, and the manner in which he had defeated and put to flight a man who was much feared among his fellows, only won for him new laurels, and caused him to be regarded as brave as he was loyal. His intimate acquaintances reposed such firm faith in him, that not one of them entertained for a moment the thought that there might possibly be a grain of justice in Zigler's accusation.
One morning, not long after this little episode, Webster left his hotel to walk down town, when he noticed that there was some unusual excitement on the streets. On every corner on Baltimore street, from the Exchange office, large numbers of men were standing in groups, evidently absorbed in some particular topic of conversation.
While wondering what all this meant, the detective was accosted by a man named Sam Sloan, one of the most faithful of his adherents.
”Webster, I was just going up to see you. Have you heard the news?”
”I have heard nothing, Sam,” was the reply. ”Is there a new sensation this morning?”
”Another of Lincoln's outrages,” said Sloan, with an indignant oath.
”Major Brown, Ross Winans, and several others were arrested last night, and taken to Fort McHenry.”
”What for?”
”For no other purpose, I suppose, than to break up the election, which is to take place next month.”
”But how can that interfere with the election?”
”By making us all afraid to go to the polls, or speak our minds.”
The two walked down the street together, and dropped into a drug store, which was known as one of the resorts of the unterrified. There they found a number of men conversing somewhat excitedly. The proprietor, a Mr. Rogers, turned toward the new-comers and said:
”Good morning, Mr. Webster; we were just talking over last night's proceedings.”
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