Buck watched his owner Marshal Matt Dillon as he saddled his bay Fred who shot a look his way. Buck thought he was probably wondering what was happening. Matt finished with Fred then ran a practiced hand over Buck's neck and shoulder. He wondered if humans knew that horses could understand just what they were saying no matter what language they were speaking.
"Sorry old son but you're getting too old for tracking outlaws."
Buck had to agree there at 27 he sometimes felt the aches of 23 years of service to his owner. He thought back to when he'd belonged to an Arapaho boy called Yorky. He'd been stolen with 15 other horses and the boy had trailed them to the home of a white man called Brant. Yorky had tried to steal them back but Brant had set a trap and shot Yorky in the leg.
Buck was reunited with Yorky only when Brant and his son Tom had driven the herd into Dodge. Brant's intention had been to sell all the horses except for Buck and Standing Bear's sorrel to the army. Yorky came with Matt when he'd came to see Buck with a view to buying him.
"16 horses stolen. Big man ride one. Buckskin belong to me."
Brant and his son Tom arrived Matt restrained Yorky.
"Keep out of this Yorky."
Brant rode into the corral.
"Pretty ain't they Marshal?"
"Sure are but that buckskin he's the best of the them all. Let you have the buckskin for $70."
"I call that reasonable."
Brant turned his horse and used his rope to lasso Buck. Matt got down from the corral fence and walked towards him.
"Where's your saddle?" Brant asked.
"In the stable. Where'd you get him."
"All up in Cheyenne country,"
"Who from Abe?"
"Why?"
"Because I want to know."
"You're mighty curious for an old friend."
"I'm not asking as a friend. Now where's the bill of sale for these horses?"
"There ain't none."
"You took them from the Arapahos, didn't you?"
"I've fought Indians all my life. They killed my friends, they stole my horses, they robbed my traps. Of course I stole these horses. There ain't another man in the territory who could do it. There ain't another man in the territory with better reason."
"The Arapahos are on a Federal reservation Abe. It's my job to see they get their horses back and that you get a trial.
"You're going to come after me?"
"Wherever you go. Now I'll send Tom and Yorky back with the horses and you'll have to stand trial."
"Stand trial for what stealing horses or killing Indians?"
"Get down from there Abe."
"Better keep still Mr Dillon," Tom said raising his rifle. "Ride out Pa."
"Unbuckle your belt and drop it," Brant said. "I'm not returning these horses and I'm not standing trial and you're not coming after me Marshal."
"You can't kill him Pa it ain't right he's our friend."
"I ain't hanging for no friendship open the gate and get me a horse."
"Pa you can't!" Tom said as reached for Brant's gun arm,
Yorky threw his knife which penetrated Brant's chest. Tom had to watch as Brant fell to the floor. Matt checked him over.
"He's dead ain't he? Matt nodded. "You going to want me?"
"At the inquest."
"Bury him out in the open somewhere will you marshal."
The next day early Yorky came to the stables he put Matt's saddle on Buck. He gathered the other horse and rode Standing Bear's big sorrel he led them out heading north towards the reservation.