"No, Tommy, don't you dare start this in here!" the bartender barked from behind the counter, his voice sharp with worry as glasses rattled on the shelves.
A few of Tommy's rough-looking boys caught the warning and turned to their boss for direction.
Tommy, ignoring the bartender completely, waved his hand for his men to press on. He sneered at the Van der Linde Gang member in the blue jacket and roared, "Come at me if you've got the guts, you little punk!"
The gang member didn't waste breath answering. He lunged forward, boots thudding on the wooden floor, and swung a heavy right hook straight at Tommy's jaw.
Tommy, built like a bull and tough as rawhide, barely flinched. He grabbed the man's shoulder with his left hand, steadied him, and drove a brutal punch into his gut with his right.
The blow made the man stumble back, clutching at his stomach. Before he could regain his footing, Tommy's fist slammed into his cheek, snapping his head sideways. The man spun awkwardly, half-turning in the air before crashing into the bar with a sick thud, where he slumped, unmoving.
Chaos erupted as Tommy's boys clashed with Van der Linde gang members. Fists flew, chairs toppled, and the saloon filled with shouts, curses, and the crash of bottles.
Jamie spotted a thug built nearly as strong as Arthur making a beeline for him. Their eyes locked—no words exchanged—before they lunged at each other, fists swinging.
There was no fancy footwork, no wasted effort. Just raw, punishing punches and dodges, each man testing how much pain the other could take before breaking.
Arthur traded blows with the thug, fists thudding into jaws and ribs. After a few exchanges, Arthur sidestepped a wild swing and drove an uppercut into the man's jaw, the crack echoing through the saloon.
The thug groaned and collapsed like a sack of grain, completely out cold.
"Is that all you've got?" Arthur spat, blood mixing with saliva as he hawked it onto the floorboards beside the unconscious man.
Arthur's eyes swept the room, and Jamie followed his gaze. A towering Black man from their crew was holding his ground against two thugs, who circled cautiously, too wary of his sheer size to attack first.
Nearby, Bill—who had bumped into Jamie earlier—was pinned to the wall, catching brutal punches from three of Tommy's men.
Arthur stormed toward them. The thugs were too busy working Bill over to notice him closing in.
Arthur grabbed the bearded brute clutching Bill's left arm, yanked him back, and hammered his fist into the side of his face. The man's beard did nothing to soften the impact; his eyes rolled back, and he toppled like a felled tree.
Bill, seizing his chance, broke free and knocked down a scrawnier thug with two quick punches.
The last thug's eyes widened. Realizing he was outmatched, he bolted for the saloon's back door. Arthur and Bill shouted after him, calling him a "coward," but neither wasted time chasing.
Their focus turned to Tommy, who was pounding another gang member's head into a small table after tossing him off the bar.
One of the two thugs squaring off against the big Black man spotted Arthur and Bill moving in on Tommy. Not wanting their boss to be cornered, he signaled to another thug who had slipped back in through the rear door. The two circled quietly behind Arthur and Bill.
Before the pair could react, both Arthur and Bill were yanked into chokeholds.
Arthur gritted his teeth, his survival instincts kicking in. He rammed his elbow backward again and again, each strike thudding into the thug's stomach. With a groan of pain, the man's grip faltered.
Arthur twisted free and finished the job with a brutal right hook that sent his attacker sprawling.
Turning back, Arthur's eyes locked on Tommy. The big man had just slammed the Van der Linde gang member in the blue jacket onto a table, splintering it beneath the weight, and was now pressing his thick hands around the man's head.
Arthur charged, closing the gap in a few long strides. "Hey! Big guy! Your fight's with me now!" he shouted.
Without waiting for a reply, Arthur's fist cracked against the back of Tommy's head.
Tommy snarled, tossing aside the half-conscious man he'd been throttling. Rage blazing in his eyes, he turned, his massive frame squaring up against Arthur.
Arthur, taking advantage of the moment Tommy turned around, raised his fist and drove it into the man's side ribs.
Tommy, as if the blow hadn't even touched him, swung back hard with a punch that cracked against Arthur Morgan's left cheek. Arthur staggered, and before he could brace himself, Tommy clamped both hands on his shoulders and hurled him across the saloon floor.
Arthur rolled, landing near Jamie, who scrambled back in alarm.
"Deymm!" Jamie blurted, stumbling to his feet and retreating quickly, not wanting to get caught in the clash.
His thin frame was no match for the storm unfolding before him.
Still, Jamie wasn't worried Arthur couldn't hold his own.
"Since you want to get involved, I'll let you taste the flavor of fresh blood." Tommy sneered as he stomped forward.
He grabbed Arthur by the collar while the outlaw was still grounded, muscles straining as he hauled him up like a sack of grain. With one violent motion, he tossed Arthur straight toward the nearest window.
The wood and glass exploded apart with a crash, and Arthur tumbled out of the saloon, hitting the dirt street outside.
He rolled several times through the mud before finally coming to a stop, his body caked in filth but still pushing to rise.
"Come on, you sissy." Tommy shoved open the swinging saloon doors and descended the steps, his voice dripping with mockery as he squared up to Arthur, who was still shaking mud from his coat.
The commotion drew a crowd. Townsfolk who had been going about their business stopped, eager to watch the chaos unfold.
Some leaned against wagons, others clustered near the boardwalk, their voices buzzing with excitement.
Jamie slipped outside too, blending into the gathering throng.
"You call me a sissy? You're really funny. Heh, a sissy?" Arthur growled, shoving himself upright from the muck, glaring at Tommy who was already raising his fists.
"That's right, you sissy. If you ain't convinced, then come on! Show me what you got!" Tommy barked, stomping forward and seizing Arthur's shoulders, wrestling with him.
While Arthur braced and resisted, Tommy snapped his boot up and drove it into Arthur's stomach.
Arthur doubled slightly, gritting his teeth as Tommy jeered, "Come on, we ain't even started yet!"
Arthur staggered, nearly dropping back into the mud, but he caught himself. Jamie saw him dig his heels into the dirt, fists tightening as he squared up like a seasoned boxer.
Tommy swung heavy and wide, but his hands weren't fast enough. Arthur slipped around the blows, his body weaving with a grace born from bar fights and brawls.
Each miss left Tommy open for counters—quick, solid strikes that smacked against his jaw and ribs. Though Tommy absorbed them, the sting was showing in the twitch of his expression.
Growing impatient, Tommy snarled and swung harder, missing yet again.
Up on the saloon porch, Van der Linde men who had already cleared their fights leaned lazily against the posts, smirking as if they never doubted Arthur's edge. Not one made a move to step in.
"Arthur, you alright?" the big Black man with them called out, watching as Arthur slipped another punch.
"I'm fine. Just want to have a good time with this son of a bitch," Arthur replied, keeping his feet moving, dodging once more.
"Stop playin', Arthur! Finish him off already!" Bill hollered from the porch, his plaid shirt wrinkled and fists still clenched from his earlier scrap.
"Alright, alright, alright—oh!" Arthur's words cut short as Tommy lunged suddenly, fist connecting clean against his jaw. Arthur toppled back into the mud with a grunt.
Before he could rise, Tommy's arm hooked around his neck, squeezing tight in a chokehold.
"Go, Tommy! Show him how good us Valentine boys are!" "Pin him in the mud!" The townsfolk roared, egging Tommy on as the fight turned in his favor.
Arthur's face reddened under the strain, but he still had fight left. He bent his elbow sharp and rammed it into Tommy's beer belly, once, twice, again and again. The blows hammered in eight hard strikes before the big man's grip finally loosened.
Arthur tore himself free, gasping, but his stance faltered. His boots slipped slightly in the muck, his chest heaving. Jamie, watching closely, thought to himself that Arthur might just have to dig deeper this time—because Tommy wasn't about to fold easy.
Sure enough, Arthur didn't dodge Tommy's next attack, but Tommy was already badly worn down, his punch losing the weight it once carried. The blow landed square on Arthur, yet it didn't push him back even half a step.
Arthur answered in kind, driving his fist forward and cracking Tommy across the cheek with a solid punch. The two men traded blows back and forth, mud splashing under their boots, neither willing to give an inch. The onlookers roared at every swing, the fight turning into a brutal display of grit and stubbornness.
They kept at it until the Van der Linde Gang member in the blue jacket—still nursing bruises from earlier—called out hoarsely, "Arthur, don't waste time with him!"
That seemed to jolt Arthur's spirit. He shifted, quickened, and began peppering Tommy with sharp jabs, snapping the man's head back again and again. Tommy's defenses crumbled, his thick arms failing to block the flurry.
Arthur paused for just a second, and Tommy seized the chance. With a sudden lunge, Tommy wrapped both hands around Arthur's neck and dragged him down into the mud, slamming him hard. The crowd gasped as Tommy mounted him, trying to pin him down once and for all.
Arthur gritted his teeth, twisting to shield his face from the bigger man's fists. He clamped onto one of Tommy's arms, straining against the weight. With a desperate surge, he bucked his hips and kicked his legs, trying to shake the brute off him. Summoning all his strength, Arthur wrenched free one arm and hammered a fist up into Tommy's jaw.
The strike stunned Tommy. His body rocked back, loosening his grip. Arthur didn't hesitate—he shoved a boot into Tommy's stomach and kicked hard. As Tommy doubled over, clutching his gut, Arthur rolled free, scrambled up, and grabbed him by the collar. With a growl, Arthur dragged him down into the muck and climbed on top.
Tommy tried to resist, but his strength was fading fast. Arthur abandoned punches for bone-cracking elbows, driving them down again and again into Tommy's bloodied face. The crowd's cheers wavered into uneasy murmurs as the beating grew savage. Tommy's arms went slack, his head rolling to the side. He was out cold.
"Please, stop, please stop!" one of the townsfolk cried, rushing forward through the circle. He grabbed Arthur's arm mid-swing, his voice breaking. "Mr., you've won—enough's enough!"
Arthur froze, his breath ragged, mud and sweat dripping from his face. He gave the man a long, hard look, then rasped, "Is there something you need?"
"N-no, sir! I just want you to stop," the man pleaded.
Arthur finally pushed himself off Tommy's limp form, staggered to his feet, and shoved the man aside. Without a word, he shouldered through the gawking crowd and trudged back toward the saloon porch.
Jamie stood there clutching a bottle of whiskey, wide-eyed. He watched Arthur come closer, the outlaw's face caked with mud and streaked with blood. Fear and awe tangled inside him.
Arthur strode up, snatched the bottle right from Jamie's hand, muttered a rough "Thanks," and bit the cork clean off. Tilting it back, he swallowed deep, whiskey spilling down his chin.
Jamie blinked at him, dumbfounded, his mind racing. How the hell did I just get robbed by the main man himself?
But before he could dwell on it, a sudden dread coiled in his chest. His heartbeat quickened, a cold shiver crawling down his spine. Something wasn't right.
"Bang!" A gunshot split the air, glass shattering behind them.
Jamie's stomach dropped. Not good! His pulse thundered in his ears as the world seemed to slow.
Every sound—the gasp of the crowd, the whistle of the wind, the tinkle of glass—came to him sharp and separate. He turned his head just in time to see the glint of a bullet slicing through the air, aimed straight for Arthur's chest.
"Danger!" Jamie shouted, throwing himself forward with everything he had. He slammed into Arthur, knocking him down just as the bullet whistled past.
The crowd hushed, all eyes snapping to the two men sprawled in the mud.
"Arthur!" Javier, the man in the blue jacket, rushed forward, his face stricken. He knelt beside them, hands searching for blood. "You alright?"
Arthur coughed, still clutching the bottle, and shoved Jamie off him. "I'm fine. Thanks to him," he said, jerking a thumb toward Jamie.
His eyes burned with fury as he scanned the rooftops. "Who's the bastard that tried to take a shot at me?"
Javier shook his head. "We don't know yet. But Charles and Bill are already after him. Don't you worry, Arthur—whoever it was, they ain't gettin' away."
"Hey, friend, are you alright? Thanks for saving me." Arthur lay on the floor, breathing hard, and when he noticed the person on top of him hadn't moved for a long while, he gave a light pat on the man's back and asked with concern.
"Hiss!" The touch jolted Jamie out of his daze, but it was followed by a sharp bolt of pain that tore through his right shoulder.
"My shoulder... damn, it hurts so bad!" he cried out through gritted teeth.
Arthur, still sprawled on the muddy floor, and Javier, who had rushed closer, both snapped their eyes toward Jamie's shoulder.
"You're shot!" they exclaimed in unison.
"What?!"
Jamie's mind spun, his breath catching in his throat as panic flared inside him.
'I got shot? Just for standing next to Arthur? I'm in danger... aren't I?' His thoughts tumbled in a rush, a heavy knot of dread forming in his chest.
"Hurry, Javier, get him up—we're takin' him to the doc." Arthur pushed himself up from the ground and barked the order.
Javier slid his arm under Jamie's, lifting him carefully. "Can you walk? Just hang on, the clinic's right next door." His tone was calm, though his grip was firm and urgent.
Jamie clenched his jaw, nodding bitterly despite the pain. With Javier supporting him, one arm draped across his back and the other steadying his injured shoulder, he managed to stumble forward.