The portly saloonkeeper slowly raised himself up from behind the bar where he'd taken cover, a shotgun in his grip.  "Ya ain't usin' the Saloon as a gallows," he declared.  Though would not concern himself with anything that took place [i]outside[/i] the saloon.

The man in white was still in the upstairs window and waves to get the saloonkeeper's attention, then points at the participants of the fight and makes a gesture that the saloonkeep seems to understand.  He nods, then pulls out a bottle that had been hidden beneath the bar, the Sweetwater Saloon's finest whiskey, and pours a shot for each of them.

"Compliments of Mr. Grainger, the proprietor of this fine establishment. He’d like to see you upstairs."