Samson stood in front of the carved stone. It wasn’t as good as taking her to a real undertaker, and getting Jesse a proper burial, a blessing from a preacher, and the service she deserved, but it was what they could do. Henny stood beside him, clinging to his arm like she often did when she needed to give or receive comfort. He welcomed the touch, keeping him warm instead of swallowed by a cold that had nothing to do with the early morning.

  “Are you okay?” Henny asked, wincing as though she knew how stupid the question was.

  “No,” said Samson, grinning and revealing some missing teeth. “But I will be. She made sure of it.”

  Henny let out a frustrated growl. “She didn’t have to die. We could’ve made plans that wouldn’t have killed her. Why did she have to pick this plan?”

  Samson shook his head. None of the rest of them knew Jesse like he did. How did he explain that dying just made it more attractive? All throughout their time together, they talked about what they would do with the money they recovered and redistributed throughout the western territories, but she never talked about the future. Not even when Samson went on about the fortune he was going to turn into a shipping business, the kids he and Henny would have, and how Aunt Jesse would inevitably corrupt the little monsters into something feral and fierce.

  She’d just smile and change the subject, maybe talk about a future plan. The cold, hard truth was that some people were meant for the era they were in. Without their antics, what did Jesse have? They’d taken everything else.

  “Can I have a moment alone?” Samson asked, voice hoarse.

  “Of course,” said Henny. She pulled him down to kiss him on the lips, and left him in the damaged, disturbed clearing where they’d ended things for good. He waited until the sounds of crunching leaves stopped.

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  Samson stared at the stone, half-expecting it to speak or tell him to stop being so serious. Instead, it just stared back, waiting patiently for him to say his piece.

  “We did as you asked,” Samson said, feeling silly for it. “We hung what was left of the Sheriff outside of town. It’s caused quite the stir. People…People know you’re dead, but many don’t believe it. Not without seeing your body. How funny is that, Jesse? All immortality took was a little dying when convenient.”

  The headstone said nothing, but he thought he could feel general amusement from it. There was no sign of his friend, no ghostly touch or whisper on the edge of his senses. She was gone, by choice, to make their legend work.

  “Things are…I think it’s different this time. With the Sheriff dead and people calling you a martyr, Mayor Gandor is terrified. I think it’s only a matter of time before someone takes him out. There’s already more people speaking for you, like they knew you, than ever before. Whoever’s gonna run for the position, they’ll do it with your philosophy in mind. At least until the greed gets to them, and we’re back where we started, I guess.”

  This was pointless. Samson sighed.

  “I guess we all get what we wanted, huh? I get to leave for Mexico like we planned, with enough money to sail up and down the coast. The Gang gets their little revolution, and you got to die a hero while taking out an enemy. Everyone’s happy.”

  ….

  Samson bowed his head. “Goodbye Jesse Jane. You were a vain, arrogant asshole, but you cared about others. And in the end, that’s all that really matters. When times get tough, there will always be people like you who care more about what’s right than what the law says is right. It’s up to the rest of us to make your dreams a reality. May your legend live forever, my friend.”

  With one last lingering look, Samson turned around and followed his lover back to the rest of the camp. All that remained of the Scales hideout and their three year crusade was a headstone that read, “Jesse Jane, Outlaw and Friend, 1832-1859. Tyrants always fall when good people stand against them.”