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. "Nobody 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 bumpers 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 assault; 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.