Imagine sweeping through green fields, floating five feet above ground, sun on your face as you

slide by on track to your

there,

the care in the world as you simply lean back. And before you know it, you're there.

This is how travels should feel and on our trains it does.

Avanti West Coast feel good travel. Hooves canter across the grassy plains of Kearney, Missouri.

A horse comes into view, silhouetted against the burning orange and yellow of a sunset sky.

A stride the saddle sits a young man, rugged from years outdoors,

his face defined by a sharp nose and a chin jutted with determination.

Raising his revolver, he spins the cylinder to check on the remaining rounds.

He carries at least one more of these weapons. We can see it outlined in his profile.

He's poised and ready, haggard, but alert.

Prepared to do battle with the forces opposing him.

But who are they, these foes, and where are they out here on the range?

It's the lonely life on the edge of the vast Western frontier. It's enough

to survive, let alone thrive, let alone understand who is your ally and who is your enemy. And the Glad to be with you again. I'm Don Wildman. This is American history hit. The gun-slinging outlaw riding the wide western

range, spurs jangling, gun glinting in the sun is an archetypal American legend.

This enigmatic outcast, whose story has been told in so many dime store novels and pulp magazines,

movies, radio, television, plays a leading role in the good versus evil drama of the American frontier.

But the true motives behind these shadowy bandits, at least the non-fictional ones, are more

revealing than we might expect when placed in their wider historical context.

Such is the case with Jesse Woodson James, the most notoriously celebrated outlaw of the 19th century,

...