Slaughter Gulch

You take up position behind the bar with a bottle of cheap booze in one hand and the barkeep's shotgun in the other. There is no ultimatum, no demand to come out with your hands up. Instead, the deathly calm of the saloon is shattered by the report of half a dozen guns.

But the bar is thick and sturdy. You keep your head down and wait. Twice the posse reloads, and twice the posse opens up on the saloon. Finally you hear the sound of glass crunching beneath boots as the six men step inside to collect your corpse.