[color=0072bc]”I expect everyone to be alive and breathing...”[/color]

Glass mixed with liquor and splinters exploded all over them. 

He was down on the floor before he could blink, surprised by the sudden power of adrenaline as much as by the shots fired. ”We've only just met you and you already demand too damn much, Erik!” said Albert desperately trying to cover his head with his hands. 

[i]Cocksuckers![/i] shouted the barman before asking the other one where the shotgun was. [i]They got my bloody arm![/i]

From outside came violent war cries and threatening whistles so loud they could be heard coming through all the gunfire. Albert poked at the door underneath his elbow, but only to see bad omens: the farmer who'd come to warn them about the bandits lay over the threshold, shaking and bleeding, barely alive, stretching his hand out towards the people inside the saloon and gurgling something with a horrible expression. 

Stupidly, Albert thought about crawling to him and perhaps dragging him in. He'd almost made a move for it when a bottle flew in through the window. ”Shit!” The bottle broke and the burning fuse set the liquid on fire. In a split second the edges of the joint were ablaze. ”Bastards want to burn as alive!” Albert crawled to the side and grabbed the legs of a game table. With a strong jerk he flipped it over, making an improvised shield he knew was useless. ”You won't be enforcing any law from this hellhole, sheriff.” A bullet whizzed through the table board, just next to Albert's ear. He finally took out his pistol: 6 bullets in the chamber.