By sheer good luck it proved to be Blick's head.
Almost completely stunned, Blick rolled over on his back, Lieutenant Prescott bearing down on one of Blick's arms, while Hal Overton held the other.
Leaping around, Noll thrust the muzzle of his own revolver into Blick's mouth.
"Shall I pull the trigger, sir?" demanded Noll coolly.
"No," responded Lieutenant Prescott with equal coolness. "I think we have the rascal now."
Jack Blick came back to consciousness to see his weapons go spinning across the floor in different directions.
"Now, if he makes any further efforts at trouble, Terry, just pull the trigger," directed Lieutenant Prescott. "Blick, put your hands in front of you, over your stomach."
Sullenly the fellow obeyed. Lieutenant Prescott snapped a pair of handcuffs over the fellow's wrists.
"Now, you'll keep without spoiling," predicted the young Army officer, leaping to his feet. "Pull him up, men."
Though his right wrist was swelling, Prescott employed that hand to thrust his revolver back into the holster over his hip.