His weapon wavered frantically as he sought to aim, the man holding himself up by one hand.

Dupont, facing that way, saw this apparition, and leaped aside, stumbling over the dead pony.

Hughes' weapon belched, and Hamlin, the lasso whirling above him in the air, pitched forward, and came crashing down into the snow.
It was all the work of an instant, a wild, confused bit, so rapidly enacted as to seem unreal even to the participants.

Hamlin lay motionless, barely conscious of living, yet unable to stir a muscle.
Hughes, screaming out one oath, sank back into a heap, his frozen fingers still gripping his smoking weapon.

Then Dupont rose cautiously to his knees, peering forth across the dead body of the pony.