That burly fella

You spy the man who threw the squaw out and head over to him. Not many people at the bar seem to appreciate his humor.

"'Scuse me, fella," you say, tapping him on the shoulder. "I'd like a word with ya."

He turns around, fixing to fight, but gets calm when he sees your short body standing behind him.

"What? I ain't got time for a kid. Go run home to yer momma," he laughs.