Agnew went down under that rush, but he clutched the Westerner, and began to struggle, at the same time sending up a sharp call for help.

In a moment the proprietor and the bartender were on the scene.
"None of this!" cried the proprietor, grabbing Badger by the shoulders, and, with the bartender's assistance, bodily dragging him off the threshing, writhing form of Agnew.

Morton did not seem in any hurry to be released or rescued, however, and hung to Badger's coat and vest with the tenacity of the under dog that fails to appreciate the fact that it is overmatched.
"No fighting in here!" panted the proprietor.

"This ain't no boxing-club! See! I'm glad to have gents come in and make themselves to home, but I can't allow any fighting!" Agnew slid toward the door, seeming anxious to escape.

The next moment he was out in the barroom, and then he vanished into the street.
"I'll pay for the damages," said Badger, choking down his wrath.