"Then it should be an easy five hundred dollars for me to lose,"
Arthur replied evenly. "Or are you the one backing down?"
A low murmur rippled through the patrons. Jake’s face flushed
with anger. His ego, fragile despite his muscular frame, couldn't
handle the slight, especially from an old man.
"Fine," Jake spat. "Out back. But when the ambulance comes, tell
them it was your own stupid fault."
Word spread through Blackwood faster than a prairie fire. By
the time Jake and Arthur walked out the back doors of the saloon
into the dusty, sun-baked lot, half the town had gathered. Mechanics
wiped grease from their hands, shopkeepers locked their doors, and
farmhands leaned against pickup trucks, all watching the spectacle
unfold.
The atmosphere was tense. The townsfolk knew Arthur as a
gentle soul. They murmured among themselves, some trying to
intervene.
"Artie, don't do this," whispered Elias, the local feed store owner,
grabbing the old man's arm. "He'll kill you."
"I'll be fine, Elias," Arthur said softly, gently patting the man's
hand.
Jake, meanwhile, was in his element. He stripped off his t-shirt,
revealing a torso mapped with aggressive tattoos and heavily
defined muscles. He began to bounce on his toes, throwing
lightning-fast shadow punches and vicious knee strikes into the
empty air, trying to intimidate the crowd and his opponent.
Arthur simply walked to the center of the dirt lot and stood