Wild West

In the territory on West, there's just one way to handle the killers and the spoilers, and that's with the U.S. Marshall and the smell of gun smoke. During William Conrad, the Transflood story of the violence that moved West with Young America, the story of a man who moved with it, Matt Dillon, United States Marshall.

I'd been up north for a few days. On the way back I camped on the Pawnee River about 30 miles some dodge planning to ride on the next morning. Here in the night however my horse twisted his knee somehow and it was going to be slower traveling than I'd figured. So I started up before dawn.

It was just a break in day when I had a rifle shot at the head. Half hour later I spotted a a fallen horse and the figure of a man crouched by its head. As I came closer, however, the figure stood up.

And I saw it wasn't a man at all. But a small boy, he held a rifle in his hand. Far enough, mister. I'm a friend, son. But down your rifle. Hey, you sound like that's Marshall Dillon.

That's right. Who are you? Oh, gee, I'm glad to see you, Marshall. Now, you look familiar. We must have met somewhere. I'm Yorkie Kelly. Oh, sure, I remember now that camp on the Arkansus. That's right.

Oh, what happened to your horse, Yorkie? Lost to his leg. I shot him just a little while ago. And I've been crying, Marshall. That's who I couldn't see, you good. I don't know. I ever man loses his horse once in a while, Yorkie.

It ain't the horse so much, Marshall. It's my paw. Your paw? Where is he? They rode off with him, Marshall. Right that way. You got to go after him. Please, Marshall, please. Something will happen if you don't.