Man with No Name- Derringer Escape

 The prisoners watched, narrowed-eyed, as Apachito and his lieutenant circled the gold wagon, studying it intently. The two rear wheels came in for special concentrated attention.

  Apachito shook them, kicked them, tried the iron tires for tightness. He tested each individual spoke for solidity, then he and Lupo together pulled on them with all their might. The stout oak refused to break or even to bend under their combined strength. He nodded with satisfaction.

  "They will do perfectly, old friend." He turned and motioned to his men. "Bring the two over here and stand them, one facing each wheel."

  The two were prodded forward to the gold wagon's wheels and ordered to thrust their arms through the indicated spokes. Apachito snapped handcuffs on the hunter's wrists, locking his arms around three of the heavy spokes, while Lupo did the same with Shadrach. He stepped back, grinning.

  "Make yourselves comfortable, amigos, but don't waste your energies trying to move the wagon. It required all the strength of a four-horse work team to haul it here and I do not think you can match that."
...

  The hunter brought his left arm up tight against the wagon spokes, his right hand cupped under the sleeve. He pressed and there was the muted click of a spring clip being released. The little double-barreled derringer slid out of the sleeve into his hand.

  He said, "Duck down below the wagon bed and stay down until I tell you. Lord knows where these slugs might ricochet if that oak is as hard as it seems."

  He cocked the twin hammers and by a mild feat of contortionism got the muzzle of the derringer up close to the middle of one of the wheel spokes encircled by his arms. The little gun blammed with a noise all out of proportion to its size. Splinters flew from the spoke but when he hauled the handcuff chain against it hard, it still resisted. The hunter swore.

  "Dammit, I don't have many bullets of this caliber and I was hoping one to a spoke would do the trick. Oh, well..."

  He fired the other barrel. Again oak splinters flew and this time, when he brought pressure on the damaged spoke, it snapped in two. By pressing his body tight to the wheel, he managed to get two fresh bullets from under the poncho and reload the derringer.
...

 The second spoke separated after one shot; the third again required two. Then suddenly, except for the handcuffs confining his wrists in front, the hunter was free. He stood up.

- A Coffin Full of Dollars, chapter 17