The man in white raised a shot glass of his own at the those that acknowledged him and took a sip to join them in their drink, though it's unlikely he could hear any of their exchanged words through the window glass. As he spots Sergio crossing the room toward the stairs, Grainger moves away from the window.  

At the top of the stairs is a small balcony and beyond, an office with the door already opened.  It's furnished with an expensive mahogany desk, currently messy with paperwork.  The back wall is covered by shelving units that contain a variety of books, stacks of papers, boxes, a couple bottles of whiskey, and even a few decorative items that get a bit lost in the clutter.  Several chairs are arranged in front of the desk.  Grainger himself is short, balding, fat, and sweating in the Texas heat.  "Come in, come in," Grainger beckons to Sergio (and anyone else that is following).  

He wipes his brow with a handkerchief as he chuckles.  "I never did like that asshole Logan, it’s about time someone put him in his place. I’m Bailey Grainger, owner of this here fine saloon."