It's unlikely anyone might notice the door to the hall opening, amid the commotion; nor are they likely to pay much attention to the man ducking through, removing his hat as he enters. A fight like this, where both participants are lost in a red haze of fury, will keep going until they're dragged or shocked out of it. A bucket of cold water might do the trick, or a gun fired in the air, or – potentially – this:

A moment of caught silence before a third body joins the fray: shaggy, furred, and snarling. Diefenbaker lunges for the man on top, fangs sinking into his clothing, his growl rising and rising as Fraser pushes in, reaching for the man on his back. Both of them are bloodied, snarling at each other as viciously as the wolf now amidst them. "Diefenbaker!"

The order snapped out, the wolf lets go of the first man and positions himself between them, braced, fangs showing, as Fraser hauls the second man, dark-haired, his eyes alight with rage, blood streaming from his nose, back. "What's going on here? What happened?"