Redskin Dead.

Mal Mal kept right on urinating and in that instant Hogue knew he should have just executed the renegade redskin right there and then.
Tyler glanced around the bar room. Half a dozen customers were pressed against the far wall; as if they remained perfectly still perhaps the psychopathic killer that was Orizaba might simply overlook them.

Tyler knew that his hesitation was a wrong move; especially when Mal Mal spun smoothly towards him, an old Colt service revolver in hand.
The Colt boomed, the retort from the pistol deafening in the enclosed bar.
Hogue’s hat was snatched from his head and an intense flash of pain snapped across his eyes.

Roaring in pain and fury, the sheriff returned fire.

Both men were less than fifteen feet apart and scorching lead ripped through the air between them.

Both men went down and the crowd in the bar gasped and yelped in fear.

Then Tyler surged to his feet and closed on Mal Mal.
But the Indian rose too, now clutching a bone handled skinning knife in his hand.

The sheriff knew better than try to reload, so quickly drew his own knife from his belt.

The two men clashed into each other with brutal force.

Mal Mal slashed low then ripped upward, trying to gut the sheriff with a manoeuvre he’d used many times before.

Tyler dodged sideways and back slashed at the Indians throat. The knife grazed a misshapen forehead but no real damage was done.
They closed on each other again.
The surrounding crowd stared on, dumbfounded looks on their faces.
The two men wrestled and tore, each striving for the advantage.

Mal Mal pivoted and threw the sheriff over his hip; but Tyler had a good hold and both men clattered to the ground again.
The Indian sprang to his feet and raced through the swing doors of the saloon.

Tyler gave chase from pure instinct.