James McPherson

Rain lashed the rooftops of Banff, as if the sky had decided to wash the day from the streets. The wind tore at cloaks and carried the smell of wet wool, smoke, and gunpowder. A scaffold towered over the crowd, and on it, beneath the nooses, stood two men.

James Macpherson and young Gordon.

Gordon was as pale as a sheet. His hands trembled in their shackles, his gaze searching for salvation. Every cry made him flinch.

McPherson looked different.

The tall, red-haired bandit stood in the rain as if he were at a fair rather than an execution. A grin played across his face. His blue eyes sparkled with mirth. He laughed at fate and death.

Steel clanged below. Shots echoed from the alleys.

"They're here! Bandits!" someone shouted.

A new volley thundered.

A fight broke out at the end of the square. The lawmen tried to hold the line, but the soldiers rushed toward the scene of the melee.

You were among them.

The wet cloak clung to his shoulders, his boots slipped in the mud, and his hand clutched his weapon. The gang burst into the city: there was almost no time left.

"To the scaffold!" someone shouted.

"Hang them before it's too late!" the guard yelled.

The soldiers were already running towards the platform.

And Macpherson kept laughing.

Then suddenly he began to sing.

Loudly, so that his voice drowned out the rain and the clash of blades:

So much fun,
Desperately
He walked to the gallows.
At the last hour,
The last dance
MacPherson set off.

The crowd froze.

Even Gordon stared at his comrade as if he saw a madman.

People were fighting below. Some were shooting. Some were dying. Some were fighting their way to the scaffold.

And James McPherson stood under the noose and sang about his own death.

As if what was happening was a ballad that would one day be taken up by tavern musicians.

Another shot rang out nearby.

One of the guards collapsed into the mud.

The robbers were already nearby.

Every second counted.

But MacPherson merely raised his head to the rain and laughed again, as if mocking the world, the gallows, fate, and death itself, which at that moment could not decide whether it had come for him in time.