The Adventures of Gun Slingin' Jack

Gun Slingin' Jack stepped onto the horse drawn carriage. Every step jingled with the sound of guns, ammunition and harmonicas. Once inside the rickety wooden stage coach, he looked around and saw a quiet Indian sitting in the far corner. His mind flashed back to the stories his father had used to tell him in the ol' saloon about the crazy savages that killed white men and kept their heads. Jack spent the entire ride staring directly at the Native. The Indian spent the entire ride staring at the ground. Once they had reached the final destination, everyone stood up within the cart and made their way to the door. Still staring at the Indian, they both finally made eye contact. The Indian smiled a gentle smile towards the cowboy, but what Jack's distorted mind saw was a challenging smirk, mocking Jack with a silent confidence. While trying to avoid the traffic of people funneling out, the Indian accidently bumped into Gun Slingin' Jack and sent him sprawling to the floor. Jack looked up and said, "You just messed with the wrong bull, welcome to the rodeo."
True to his name, Jack produced a .44 Magnum and pointed it at the Indian. The Indian stood tall, and did not flinch in the face of the loaded pistol and then with inhuman like speed he put a blade to Jack's neck.  They brought their faces very close to each other, shooting daggers with their eyes, daring the other to make the first move. After standing there for what felt like an eternity they both backed away and holstered their weapons. They nodded to each other, left the train and went their separate ways. Neither mentioning the event ever again.