He was tall, dark and lean. Savagely lean. Dark of mane, windswept and seldom cut. His eyes were cold and dark, like mirrored pools within a deep, still cavern wherein most often, their depths ran with a strange and chilling violence. Yet, he was a man whose dark and wildness of appearance would never in a lifetime outmatch the inner darkness' of his mind. His was the past of an infamous outlaw, one of the most notorious of all time. Jesse Manton. Never once imprisoned, an inherent suspiciousness and distrust of places and people once had been the key to Jesse's very survival. Yet as was this seemingly charmed past, gone was the wild unsteadiness and foolish pride of his youth, replaced by an indelibly shrewd cunning. These together and with one thing more, a gunhand that moved with the elusive suddenness of heat lightning, would hold the secret to his success of becoming a United States Marshall. Cameron, Arizona Territory. In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred seventy six.