Original subtitles

Wanna come out where I can see ya, friend?

♪ Johnny Yuma was a rebel ♪

♪ He roamed through the West ♪

♪ Did Johnny Yuma, the Rebel ♪

♪ He wandered alone ♪

♪ Johnny Yuma ♪

Uncle John.

Well, you're one day and 60 miles out here, aren't you?

I'm early, but I ain't your uncle.

I never was.

No, but you were always mean enough to be.

Besides, my pa always taught me to respect my elders.

They real dead?

Unless they got nine lives.

Some do.

You here to pay your pa's debt?

Yes, sir.

I told him throw away that tin star.

You wear it, you always end up and dyin'.

You remember when I saved your pa's life, huh?

Sure do.

You got some whiskey?

No, sir.

This'll help close the wound and keep it from festerin'.

You didn't even blink an eye.

Ain't my head.

Now you owe me for savin' your pa's life

and now yours, too, boy.

You gonna pay it?

Uncle John, I've come 1500 miles.

What do you want?

You know you was named after me?

Yes, sir.

No more than a half a dozen people warmed me

in all my life.

Your pa, your ma, you.

My wife.

You remember your Aunt Emily, boy?

Yes, sir.

Her fried chicken, too.

She's dead.

I'm sorry, Uncle John.

We got no children of our own

except that died bornin'.

You know what your pa could do?

He could hunt a man.

He had the patience of Job.

And he had the knowledge

to hunt a man.

Boy, you know what I'm talkin' about?

Yes, sir.

Pa always said there were only a certain amount

of moves the hunted could make,

and a certain amount of moves a hunter could make.

Ya knew 'em, you studied 'em,

and peace officers usually came out ahead.

Any of that rub off on you?

Well, pa used to say I had a nose for it.

You know what I am, boy?

No, sir.

I'm a scalp hunter.

They're worth 100 pesos in Mexico, their hair is.

That's how I earn my living.

I was gonna ask you to make a hunt with me.

Your pa woulda said yes.

Hunt who?

Apache.

Boy, I'm half blind.

Oh, I can see find in distance,

but I can't see my nose in front of me,

and I can't follow a trail no more.

Just any Apache or do you have a preference?

The name's Masi.

Somethin' special.

He killed 11 white people.

Not countin' Injuns and squaws.

You gonna pay me what you owe me?

I was sorry about your pa.

He was a good man.

So,

better take their hair.

I remember Uncle John.

Musta been eight or 10 years old

when he saved my father's life.

He stood there in the street with him

when no one else would.

Killed two men.

That night, my mother kissed him and thanked him,

and Aunt Emily baked a blueberry pie.

Aunt Emily sure could make blueberry pie.

Uncle John?

Uncle John?

Hm?

How did Aunt Emily die?

Well,

homestead was burned.

And she was in it.

Why did you come to my camp?

I was huntin' those two.

Besides, the good Lord says to protect little children.

Don't he?

I guess so.

We go to county seat tomorrow

and get us some supplies.

Then we move toward the high Chiricahuas.

Not far, boy

$40 for that nag, huh?

They must think money grows on trees.

Hey, boy, you old enough to drink?

Yes, sir.

Can I buy you one for the road?

No, sir.

Don't you wanna drink with me?

I forgot to buy some shells.

Sheriff?

My name's Armstedder, son, I'm kind of in a hurry.

What can I do for you?

Maybe you can tell me about an Apache called Masi.

You're with John Sims?

Yes, sir.

Well, he's worth $200, if that's what you want to know.

No, sir, I wanted to know about him.

Well, he's Chiricahua Apache.

No one knows what he looks like or how old he is.

The Apaches say he's young,

got gentle features.

He rode with Wild Bear for five years.

Last year Wild Bear signed a peace treaty

with the great white father.

Wild Bear rode in San Calis,

army boys grabbed him.

Threw him and his people into a box car,

padlocked the doors, and nailed 'em up.

They the ones that was shipped to Florida?

That's right.

44 Indians in that furnace for 24 days.

Five of them died and one escaped,

only God knows how.

Masi?

It was in Idaho.

He made his way back here about 1800 miles.

Killed five white men and women on the way,

six more since, they say.

Since then, he's been stealin' food and women

from his own people.

Then he kills the women so they can't betray him

to the Apache police.

That's Masi.

You sound like you like him.

Well, he's a man, you gotta give him that.

Why does John Sims hate him?

I mean, why so personal?

Well, they say Masi stole from him one day

when he was out hunting,

then burned his wife alive in their homestead.

How 'bout that drink you were gonna buy me?

You figure you can stand the smell of me?

You're my godfather, aren't you?

We're seven days out of the country seat now.

I don't think Uncle John is wrong.

Masi killed his wife.

He wants revenge.

Three days ago when I found the lone tracks,

he said just loud enough for me to hear,

"I thank you, God."

"I thank you for this boy's eyes."

The tracks were large and diffuse

but had the look of moccasin tracks just the same,

and there was something peculiar about their gait.

As though one leg might be shorter than the other.

Uncle John believes that they're the tracks of Masi.

It's furnace hot during the day.

I think I'm tracking well.

I feel close to my father.

Feel lucky?

I don't know, why?

He won't run, boy.

He'll try to kill us.

Yup.

Did you lose it?

They're his tracks again,

or ones just like 'em.

Yeah?

With the funny shoe?

Yes, sir.

He is makin' it easier for us.

They're fresh.

Real fresh.

You never know what to do.

You travel along the rim of the hills

and you're a silhouette.

You can be seen, you can be shot.

And you move along the gullies,

and someone can take you from above.

I dunno.

I must be gettin' old.

It's him.

You all right, Uncle John?

You shut your mouth, boy.

He's scarin' the horses!

If it's Masi, they won't run far.

He's killing them.

He's probably gone.

You wanna find out for sure?

Yes, sir.

I'll bring back what I can.

Hold on, Uncle John.

I found where he laid his gun.

Now you believe Masi exists, huh?

I paid $70 for that horse and I liked him.

Can you bird dog him on foot?

I think so.

We could hold a track that way.

And I could meet you at, uh,

Sand Creek Junction in say a week.

All right, I'm willin'.

It's Apache country.

His country.

Ah, you best think on it a little first.

I paid $50 for that saddle, too.

You're mad now, ain't you, boy?

Like they say,

mad enough to fight.

You sure you wanna use that scatter gun

instead of the rifle?

You gotta get so almighty close to use it.

Used it before.

Boy.

You keep alive now.

I don't wanna be haunted by your pa's ghost.

The earth was a scorchin' haystack.

It was hard to find the needle.

But once I came on the tracks,

it was harder to hold 'em.

Day by day, the uneven imprints

told their story in their savage language

as if Masi himself were speakin' to me.

They told of desperation, of hunger,

of cunning.

The days seared into weeks,

and at times it was hard to tell if I was the hunter

or the one who was bein' hunted.

Hoo-hoo!

Uncle John, Uncle John!

How are ya, bucko?

Boy!

That's enough.

You'll blow yourself up to poppin'.

It's been three weeks, boy.

What'd you do?

Get lost or somethin'?

I been worried about you.

I'm sure glad to see you, Uncle John.

I was gettin' almighty thirsty.

Did you lose him?

Yes, sir.

I lost your Indian.

Sometimes I was so close I could smell him.

You know, one day we covered about, oh,

about 70 miles in 24 hours.

I kept thinkin' I'm full of good meat,

and he's probably not, I can take him.

I can take him.

I stayed with him two weeks before he lost me.

Then I began to think about a mountain lion I once hunted.

Oh, yeah, I remember that.

You killed him, didn't you?

Yes, sir.

What was ya?

You were 14, were ya?

Yes, sir, about that.

You know, I hunted that cat about a week.

Pa was away, and Ma thought I was dead for sure.

When I cornered that cat,

we were so high up in the mountains,

I thought I'd freeze.

You know, when I finally lined my rifle up on him

I almost didn't shoot.

I guess you kinda hate to end a hunt like that.

Did you line your gun up on Masi?

Yes, sir.

But with the scatter gun, I just wasn't close enough.

Are you sure that's the reason

you didn't pull the trigger?

I don't know.

I don't know.

The closer I got the more I kept wonderin'

if I had the right to kill a man

just because he shot a horse I owned.

Oh, well, now you count the dozen odd

white people that he killed?

Uncle John, I didn't know them.

You knew my wife.

Yes, sir, but I'm not sure he killed her,

and neither are you.

Oh, well, now those Apaches that tried to kill you,

what was it they wanted?

They wanted your gun, your horse, and your clothes,

and they was willin' to take your life for just that,

bucko boy.

Uncle John, I've seen white men

do the very same thing in war.

It's always war with the Apaches.

You wanna live in that kind of world?

You want your children to live in that kind of world?

No, sir, I guess not.

No.

Ah, it's gonna be a long hunt.

But we'll take him.

The bigger the country, the more your eyes

have to get used to seeing the little things.

The way a blade of grass is bent

can tell you a direction.

A soft spot in the earth may have been a dry cap.

After too many days,

Masi's tracks told us a different story.

And then we came upon her.

The girl Masi had taken and held.

But when we got too close,

Masi cut the big muscles of her legs and left her.

Her father had tracked him, too.

His search was over now.

So after more than a month,

we were no closer to Masi than when we started.

This was his country now,

and he knew it better than we did.

How to live in it,

and how to hide in it.

In the end, it always comes down to luck.

A gunfight, a hunt,

each and every human enterprise in the end

comes down to luck.

I came upon one of those strange moccasin prints

by accident.

In three days, we saw the man through binoculars.

He was far in the distance and downwind of us.

He wore his hair long in the Apache fashion.

Wore only high leggings and a skin shirt.

He carried a rifle on his shoulder and walked

with a great but ragged stride.

It's almost impossible to take

a renegade Apache from behind.

You can't get close enough to kill

without his knowin' that you're there.

He'll turn and wait for ya.

Two days ago, we took the big gamble.

We circled this place to wait.

Uncle John says that Masi wears a chain and locket

taken from Aunt Emily.

He's promised to let me try and take him alive.

I don't know about the way he lived,

but he died pretty good.

You did a good job.

Let's go get his hair.

Uncle John.

Found this on him.

It really was him.

Why, I killed 12 Apaches,

and every time, I thought it was him.

I don't guess I told you that, did I, boy?

No, sir.

Still want his hair?

Oh, no, what for, boy?

Hunt's over.

Purely finished.

♪ Johnny Yuma was a rebel ♪

♪ He roamed through the West ♪

♪ Did Johnny Yuma, the Rebel ♪

♪ He wandered alone ♪

♪ He got fightin' mad, this rebel lad ♪

♪ He packed no star as he wandered far ♪

♪ Where the only law was a hook and a draw ♪

♪ The Rebel ♪ ♪ Away ♪

♪ Johnny Yuma ♪ ♪ Away rode the Rebel ♪

♪ He searched the land, this restless lad ♪

♪ He was panther quick and leather tough ♪

♪ And he figured he had been pushed enough ♪

♪ The Rebel ♪

♪ Johnny Yuma ♪

This has been a Mark Gordon-Bill Todman Production.