With a growl of rage Olsen was upon him.
The men clinched and both went to the floor. But, as they fell, Cavard had managed to slip a revolver from his pocket. It was now his one purpose to bring the weapon into position where he could use it.
"Look out, Segunder—he's got a gun!" shouted Bob Jarvis.
But the Icelander did not need the warning. He had seen the movement and he was now struggling to get possession of the weapon before it could be turned against him. Cavard was on his back, with his cheek pressed tightly against the cheek of his opponent, the Icelander's left hand pinioning Cavard's right hand and the weapon to the floor.
With a sudden powerful upward movement of his body Cavard threw his adversary off and leaped to his feet. In getting up, however, the Russian's weapon was knocked from his hand.
A lithe young figure sprang through the crowd at the instant when the miners, believing their leader was seriously hurt, were making a rush for Olsen.
The figure was Bob Jarvis. Quick as a flash he snatched the revolver from the floor and sprang back again the wall.
"Jarvis! Jarvis! Throw him out of the window. Kill the scab!"
Slowly the weapon in the hand of the Iron Boy was raised to a level with the men's heads.
"Stand back, every mother's son of you, or I'll make you look like nutmeg graters!" warned the boy.