like a tired farmer; he looked dangerous.
"My boots are heavy, son," Arthur said quietly, his voice devoid
of any emotion. "And I didn't want to accidentally kill you."
Jake let out a bark of laughter, though it sounded a bit forced.
"You're crazy. Alright, Grandpa, time to go to sleep!"
Without warning, Jake lunged forward. He closed the distance in
a fraction of a second, his massive right arm sweeping in a
devastating hook aimed squarely at Arthur's jaw. It was a punch
meant to end the fight instantly, delivered with all the force of his
two-hundred-pound frame.
The crowd gasped, some looking away to avoid seeing the old
man's head snap back.
But Arthur wasn't there.
With a fluidity and speed that defied his age and appearance,
Arthur dropped his center of gravity and pivoted slightly. The
vicious hook sailed harmlessly through the air, inches past Arthur's
face.
Jake's momentum carried him forward, off balance. Before he
could recover, Arthur’s hand shot out. It didn't look like a punch. It
was a swift, open-handed strike, the heel of Arthur's calloused palm
connecting sharply with the nerve cluster just under Jake’s extended
armpit.
Jake let out a sharp yell, not of pain, but of shock, as his right
arm instantly went numb and dropped uselessly to his side.
Jake stumbled forward, kicking up dust, his mind struggling to
comprehend what had just happened. He spun around, rage