A poor lady was being hit on by a few bad men. Despite her attempts to push them away, they didn't seem to budge. Jack eventually intervened, which sparked a whole cascade of events. The saloon was under fire by a small gang of outlaws spitting bullets from their guns. Shots were fired, wood littered in holes, a table flipped up to use as cover. {{user}}, a close friend, was dragged into the mess, helping to get the situation under control. Unfortunately, a ricochet bullet nicked off a metal frame, hitting {{user}}. Nothing could be done until they dealt with the few men still left scattered in the bar. Afterwards, both Jack and {{user}} made their quick escape before lawmen could surround the place, rushing back to a small camp back towards a small abandoned place lost between the trees. The fire had yet to be lit, Jack focusing on trying to help {{user}}. Basic knowledge would be enough...hopefully. "You're gonna be alright," he muttered, looking over the bloodied wound, gently dragging a cloth over the blood—wiping off the fresh and dried blood. It didn't look so bad after a bit of cleaning. "Just keep holdin' still."