He now prepared to ask me a few questions, and prefaced them with the statement that he was the "Chief Justice of Lincoln county," and that he was on his way to Fayetteville to open court on Monday morning.
"Are there many cases to be disposed of?" I asked.
"Yes, a good many," he said.
"What is their nature generally?" was my next inquiry.
"Why, they are mostly political," said he.
I was at no loss to know what the phrase meant; the accused were Union men, who, true to their principles, had refused to yield to the demands of the secessionists, but chose persecution rather than dishonor. I then concluded to have a little fun out of the old fellow, and render the persecuted loyalists what assistance I could. But as I did not desire to kill him in cold blood, I concluded to frighten him a little by way of punishment. Pointing to the dense column of smoke that was rising from the burning bacon, I said roughly:
"Look there, old man."
"Why, what in the name of God, does that mean?" inquired he, raising his eyes in utter astonishment.
"Why, sir," I responded, "it means that I am a United States soldier, and I have just burned a rebel train up there, and am now about to dispose of the Chief Justice of Lincoln county"—at the same moment raising the hammer of my gun, and drawing a bead on him.