“You won’t kick my brains out, Jeb Whipple!” replied Captain Abe, not batting an eyelash.
Whipple cast a calculating eye up and down Abe’s sinewy frame, and decided to promptly forget his threat.
“Now look har, Abe,” he whined, “we’re out on a Injun war-hunt, an’ we wants to kill Injuns.”
“Kill all the Sacs you want, Whipple. I’m with you there. But you won’t harm a hair of this young brave.”
At these resolute words of Lincoln, there came an angry muttering from several in the crowd. The sound of threats was heard.
“If any man wants to dispute with me,” grated Abe, “let him stand forth.”
“Aw, that ain’t fair, Abe,” protested Whipple. “Yer taller an’ stronger then we uns.”
“There’s a remedy for that,” was the sharp reply. “You may choose your weapons.”
There was some further argument; but it soon became apparent that the staunch words of the border captain were beginning to have their effect. The flaring tempers of the crowd were gradually cooling. Only Whipple and three or four other hot-heads remained savage and sullen, though not daring to accept Abe’s bold challenge.
Tom Gordon had by now dragged himself to his feet, still dizzy from the force of the foul blow he had been given.