"The man reeled half way across the room, and fell prostrate between two tables." P. 277.
"I am, eh?" hissed Zigler through his clenched teeth, and before any one could make a movement to restrain him he sprang furiously toward Webster.
Quick as was this movement, however, Webster was prepared for him. Like a flash of lightning his fist flew straight out from the shoulder, striking the ruffian between the eyes, with a force that would have felled an ox. The man reeled half-way across the room, and fell prostrate between two tables.
With a roar like that of a baffled beast, Zigler gathered himself up and rushed at Webster, flourishing above his head a murderous-looking knife. But, as if by magic, a revolver appeared in the detective's hand, the muzzle of which covered his adversary's heart.
"Stop!" cried Webster, in a tone of stern command. "Hold your distance, you miserable cur, or your blood will be upon your own head!"
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."