At almost the same instant the third shot whistled from the east.

Black Jack sprang into the air with a yell of complete panic, for it ripped a heel from his boot.

Freckles emptied his second chamber, and the earth spattered over Wessner.

Shots poured in rapidly.

Without even reaching for a weapon, both men ran toward the east road in great leaping bounds, while leaden slugs sung and hissed around them in deadly earnest.
Freckles was trimming his corners as closely as he dared, but if the Angel did not really intend to hit, she was taking risks in a scandalous manner.
When the men reached the trail, Freckles yelled at the top of his voice: "Head them off on the south, boys! Fire from the south!" As he had hoped, Jack and Wessner instantly plunged into the swale.