Over a small limb lay her revolver.
It was trained at short range on Black Jack and Wessner, who stood with their hands above their heads.
Freckles, with the blood trickling down his face, from an ugly cut in his temple, was gagged and bound to the tree again; the remainder of the men were gone.

Black Jack was raving as a maniac, and when they looked closer it was only the left arm that he raised.

His right, with the hand shattered, hung helpless at his side, while his revolver lay at Freckles' feet.

Wessner's weapon was in his belt, and beside him Freckles' club.
Freckles' face was white, with colorless lips, but in his eyes was the strength of undying courage.

McLean pushed past the Bird Woman crying.
"Hold steady on them only one minute more!" He snatched the revolver from Wessner's belt, and stooped for Jack's.
At that instant the Angel rushed past.