ner 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. It
was a battle to be fought out with bare hands. Twice Westcott struck,
his clenched fist bringing blood, but Lacy clung to him, one hand
twisted in his neck-band, the other viciously forcing back his head.
Unable to release the grip, Westcott gave back, bending until his
adversary was beyond balance; then, suddenly straightening, hurled the
fellow sidewise. But by now Beaton, dazed and confused, was upon his
feet. With the bellow of a wild bull he flung himself on the
struggling men, forcing Lacy aside, and smashing into Westcott with all
the strength of his body. The impetus sent all three crashing to the
floor.

Excited voices sounded without; then blows resounded against the wood
of the locked door, but the three men were oblivious to all but their
own struggle. Like so many wild beasts they clutched and struck,
unable to disentangle themselves. Enright, his face like chalk, got to
his knees and crept across the floor until his hand closed on
Westcott's revolver. Lifting himself by a grip on the desk, he swung
the weapon forward at the very instant the miner rose staggering,
dragging Beaton with him. There was a flash of flame, a sharp report,
and Westcott sprang aside, g