“There are few things that conjure up the image of bravado, daring, and danger better than the idea of the American outlaw. The American Wild West was a breeding ground for these lawless, oftentimes ruthless, breed of men, who couldn't or wouldn't live by the laws of civilized society. Unbound and unfettered by both the laws of government and the laws of men, they roamed the dusty, windswept vistas of an untamed teen-aged America. Taking a job where there was one and taking whatever they wanted whenever they could.

Yet, some of our most often remembered and stories that are told again and again, are of the iconic myths and legends of the outlaws of the American Wild West. Almost every American boy has heard the names of men like Jesse James, John Wesley Hardin, Billy the Kid, Butch Cassidy, and the names of the cities where they plied their lawless trade, such as Tombstone, Dodge City, Deadwood, Yuma, and Wichita. And not only do we remember the stories of these desperadoes and highwaymen, but also, we remember the names of those who hunted them down and often put them in the ground at Boot Hill cemeteries throughout the American West. Although, now seen through the prism of folklore and the smoke of myth, these iconic American heroes were little better, if not at times worse, than the very same outlaws they hunted “in the name of the law” with names such as Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Doc Holliday, and Wild Bill Hickok.

You must give them credit, though. No matter where they fell on either side of the law or whether they fell in the streets at the hands of a faster draw, these were tough men used to tough ways, who knew the freedom and hardships of the open range, a dark starlit sky and the freewheeling uncertainty of whether they would live another month, another day, or another hour. Regardless, they are now woven into the fabric and folklore of our nation's history. And we still pack the theatre to see the latest tale of a lowdown, snake-eating desperado. Another American outlaw.

What can I say? This knife just screams out dusty winds, the creak of worn leather, the crackle of a fire, and perhaps even the sound of a gunshot in the not too distant past. This knife is an outlaw, an Emerson Outlaw, and I knew it the first time I put one in my hand. Let me know if you agree.”