go close enough to the cowards to make it interesting, and
keep it up until we have them going."

Freckles protested.

The Bird Woman reached over, and, taking the smaller revolver from his
belt, handed it to the Angel. "Keep your nerve steady, dear; watch where
you step, and shoot high," she said. "Go straight at them from where you
are. Wait until you hear Freckles' first shot, then follow me as closely
as you can, to let them know that we outnumber them. If you want to save
McLean's wager on you, now you go!" she commanded Freckles, who, with an
agonized glance at the Angel, ran toward the east.

The Bird Woman chose the middle distance, and for a last time cautioned
the Angel as she moved away to lie down and shoot high.

Through the underbrush the Bird Woman crept even more closely than she
had intended, found a clear range, and waited for Freckles' shot. There
was one long minute of sickening suspense. The men straightened for
breath. Work was difficult with a handsaw in the heat of the swamp. As
they rested, the big dark fellow took a bottle from his pocket and began
oiling the saw.

"We got to keep mighty quiet," he said, "and wait to fell it until that
damned guard has gone to his dinner."

Again they bent to their work. Freckles' revolver spat fire. Lead
spanged on steel. The saw-handle flew from Wessner's hand and he reeled
from the jar of the shock. Black Jack straightened, uttering a fearful
oath. The hat sailed from his head from the far northeast. The Angel
had not waited for the Bird Woman, and her shot scarcely could have been
called high. 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. A
spattering of lead followed them. They crossed the swale, running low,
with not even one ba