Mary, sensing the upcoming fight, slipped away from the table just a moment after Finney.  Maybe she'd join in.  Maybe not.  Maybe it would depend upon which side looked like it was winning.  For now, she'd content herself to watch the show from the relative safety of the bar.

Finney might not have noticed the invitation from the man at the pool table, but one of the thugs did.  "Why don't you mind your own damn business, mister," the thug said to Sergio.

Mr. Logan, with his meticulously trimmed mustache, hair, and fingernails, didn't seem the sort that had ever been in a barfight in his life. And he wasn't about to start now.

As Taylor and the Cree man made their all-too-credible threats, Logan took his hand off the money and started to retreat.  "Gentlemen," he began, purely intending to spin some bullshit line that would buy him a few moments to extricate himself from the fray before sending his hired thugs in to do his dirty work.  But too late.  Billy had just clocked one of his men.  

The punches to the jaw sent the thug stumbling backwards.  He'd probably be spitting out a tooth or two here in a minute. 

Immediately, the others jumped into the fray. One grabbed the back of Taylor's chair to try to tip it over backwards with Taylor still in it.

A heavyset man wielding an empty whiskey bottle like a bludgeon, swung it toward Mistihkoman's face.  

And one with a curly blonde beard threw a punch at Billy's gut to try to avenge his friend. 

Logan himself simply tried to backpedal and get clear of the fight, though was backing straight toward Finney.