With one lashing out of a foot that sent Enright hurtling against the farther wall, he cracked Lacy's head against a corner of the desk, and closed in deadly struggle with the third man, whom he now recognised as Beaton.
Before the latter could comprehend what had happened the miner was on top, and a clenched fist was driven into his face with all the force of a sledge-hammer.

But barroom fighting was no novelty to the gunman, nor had he any scruples as to the methods employed.

With teeth sunk in his opponent's arm, and fingers gouging at his eyes, the fellow struggled like a mad dog; yet, in spite of every effort to restrain him, Westcott, now filled with the fierce rage of battle, broke free, fairly tearing himself from Beaton's desperate clutch, and pinning him helplessly against the wall.
At the same instant Lacy, who had regained his feet, leaped upon him from behind, striking with all his force, the violence of the blow, even though a grazing one, driving the miner's head into the face of the gunman.
Both went down together, but Westcott was on his feet again before Lacy could act, closing with the latter.

It was hand-to-hand, the silent struggle for mastery between two men not unevenly matched, men asking and receiving no mercy.

The revolver of one lay on the floor, the other still reposed on the open desk, and neither could be reached.