"You're buttin' in where--" Calumet dropped his pistol and took a quick step.

With a swish his right hand went forward to Taggart's face, one hundred and eighty pounds of vengeful, malignant muscle behind it.

There was the dull, strange sound of impacting bone and flesh.

Taggart's head shot backward, he crumpled oddly, his legs wabbled and doubled under him and he sank in his tracks, sprawling on his hands and knees in the sand.
For an instant he remained in this position, then he threw himself forward, groping for the pistol Calumet had dropped.

Calumet's booted foot struck his wrist, and with a bellow of rage and pain he got to his feet and rushed headlong at his assailant.