DEAD MEN PAY THEIR DEBTS.

THE HANGMAN AND THE OUTLAW.

No one who had ever known Jesse Jordan in life would describe him as a good man. They would call him a liar, a cheat, a murderer, a thief - some would even go so far as to call him part of the devil's brood.

They would all agree, however, that it was for the best when Jordan finally swung from the noose at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

The news had spread to every corner of America before the day was over - the most famous outlaw in the West had finally been put away for good. He had been the most notorious criminal ever before seen - in America, at least; some claimed that the Europeans overseas had worse.

In any case, on February 1834, just as the dawn touched her fingers to the horizon, Jesse Jordan walked up the stairs to the hangman's noose. The watching crowd was pin-drop silent, the only noise the whistling of the wind, but afterwards many of the men in front insisted that Jordan had given the crowd a careless once-over as he sighed impatiently.

"Darlin', pull the lever already," he allegedly said. "It's cold out here, you ain't got no business having this dreadful issue so early in the bleedin' morning." They said he grinned as the noose tightened around his neck. They said he was still smirking as the trapdoor opened below him.

The boy shudders as he finishes his story, his fingers sullenly picking at the thick wool of his sweater as he casts a glance behind him. Jesse can hear someone moving around in the house behind them - probably the boy's mother, he guesses. He sits up, his chair creaking under him on the rickety porch.

"Yes, yes," he drawls, waving a hand. He sits comfortably, the boy - Nicolas - across from him. "Everyone knows that already. Jordan was a monster, he sold drugs, he murdered poor innocents - everyone knows that. Tell me how daring he was, how handsome he was, how he could make all the boys and girls blush with one glance of his steely gray eyes."

Nicolas shifts in his seat, reaching out to pick up his glass of coffee on the round table between them. "He was one of the most dangerous outlaws in all of the West - probably the most dangerous."

"Ain't gotta mean he was ugly," Jesse says, crossing one leg over the other. He casts a quick glance over at the horizon as he plays with the thick copper ring on his right ring finger. The sun was setting him, Colt would be expecting him down at the saloon soon.

"Well..." Nicolas clears his throat, colour rising to his cheeks. He busies himself with his coffee, averting his eyes.

"Well, what?"

"Well, I heard that he was quite striking," Nicolas admits after a long sip of coffee. "I ain't never seen him when he was alive, of course, but the wanted posters all around California showcase his likeness pretty well, I'd reckon."

Jesse makes a small noise of discontent, shaking his head. "I s'pose," he says slowly, disdainfully. "Except the nose. Jordan's nose was a perfect fox nose, pointed and straight. The wanted posters make it look like someone broke his nose twice and didn't bother to set it right either time."

Nicolas shrugs. "I...I also heard things." He swirls his coffee, sucking on his teeth. "I heard he had hair as black as the night and gray eyes that glittered like stars. If everyone's to be believed," he adds quickly. "Just repeating what everyone else's said."

"That so? What else did you hear about this so-called monster?"

"He was a monster! Just 'cos he may have been handsome ain't mean he was an angel."

"Ah, but Nicolas, even the devil himself had been an angel once - the most handsome one, too, I reckon." Jesse winks.

Nicolas leans forward, his cheeks flushed. "I...I heard this rumor - I mean, I reckon it was a rumor - that Jordan once broke into a girls' home to steal their jewelry, but the girls gave him all the jewelry he asked for 'cos they were smitten with his roguish charm and good looks."