A solitary man on horseback leading a pack mule slowly crosses the desert landscape. The music is docile and quaint at first but explodes when he turns into the main street of an obviously thriving Old West town.
No sooner has he tied the animals to a post than his attention is drawn to a runaway stagecoach barreling down Main Street with two drunken yahoos at the reins, shouting and firing pistols into the air, laughing as the coach overturns in the middle of the thoroughfare, whereupon they stagger in the direction of the saloon to refuel. The stranger glances inside the stagecoach then walks back to his horse, pulls a rifle from the saddle holster, heads across the street, stops, takes a tin star from his pocket and pins it on, then strides purposefully toward the saloon. What happens when he gets there sets the stage for the rest of this gritty made-for-tv film.
The younger of the two yahoos resists arrest, claiming absolution based solely on his surname, King. But it doesn't work on the stoic newcomer, and hotheaded Sam King winds up dead from a rife blast after firing several shots at the stranger. One of the witnesses, Nels Decker of the cattlemen's freight association, snarls, "Stupid move, Marshal." He explains with condescending hauteur that the King ranch brings a lot of money into the town, which the last three lawmen had learned to their sorrow within a week of their taking the job.
"My name is Harmon," replies the new marshal, steely resolve in his deep voice and piercing stare, "and I'm here to stay." Then he marches the remaining King brother, Rol, off to jail.
Just after Harmon gets Rol King behind bars, congenial old Mules O'Neil strolls in and introduces himself as a barely surviving freight business operator who is content to fish every day and work only when the more successful Decker company throws a small job his way. Harmon gives O'Neil the job of riding out to pick up the stagecoach's passengers who had been dumped in the desert by the joy-riding King brothers.
Harmon's demeanor softens on meeting Julie, the pretty hotel owner, and Andres, a Mexican street urchin/would-be thief. When next we see the marshal, he's clean-shaven and wearing a suit. He catches Andres trying to steal from the grocer, gives him a few coins for food, and offers to let him sleep in the marshal's office in exchange for cleaning it. That very night, two men free Rol King but then shoot him in the back with the marshal's shotgun as he runs into the street. Andres, from his pallet on the floor, witnesses the jail break but can identify one of the assailants only by his very shiny boots. Decker smugly threatens the marshal. "When Arch King rides into Yuma tomorrow, he's gonna want more than a Mexican kid's word that you didn't kill his brother."
Shiny boots mean one thing to Dave Harmon; they belong to a military man from the adjacent Army fort. He goes there and, after using an unorthodox way of getting the commander, Major Lucas, as well as the entire garrison out of bed he learns that the only man missing from the fort that night, Captain White, is the quartermaster responsible for buying cattle to be distributed by treaty to the tribe on the reservation. The keen-eyed Harmon notices well-laden wagons from Decker Freight Company on the base and you can almost see the wheels begin to turn in his mind.
According to Major Lucas' dossier on Harmon, the marshal was himself in the military and had left the Army with a good record. After the war he took up ranching, but when his wife and son were killed by raiders wearing Union uniforms, he became a lawman seeking justice. He had gone from one job to another, always near a military base. Lucas cautions Harmon not to let his tragic past cloud his judgment now. "You haven't got much evidence to arrest a man on."
"If he's innocent," replies Harmon, "he's got nothing to worry about."
Lucas pointedly assures him, "If he's guilty, he'll face a court martial." To which Harmon replies bluntly with that steely stare, "If he's guilty, he'll face me."
From there the fabric of an intriguing mystery begins to be woven: the local Indians are angry because they aren't getting their allotment of beef, Arch King is bent on avenging his brother's death, and there's an undercurrent of corruption running through the dusty town of Yuma; all the threads seem to be tied together somehow. Using several clever tactics, Marshal Harmon manages not only to solve the mystery but also to defuse a potentially volatile situation by using his brain.
It's a shame this well-crafted and well-cast pilot with skillful writing and production values didn't become a series, but by the 70s Western lawmen were being replaced by flashy 20th century detectives in fast cars, and once that precedent was set, there was no going back. Still, "Yuma" had all the components of a winner that Western fans might have enjoyed for quite a few seasons.
Perennial bad guy Morgan Woodward as Arch King shows he could also play a tough, angry cattleman who is still capable of listening to a voice of reason. Dave Harmon is that voice, every bit as strong and determined as King but interested more in seeing justice done than in spilling blood. I can even see these two powerful men becoming friends after the dust settles.
All the supporting players are excellent, from Kathryn Hays' potential romantic interest, Julie, to Edgar Buchanan's outwardly harmless old coot, Mules, and Barry Sullivan's ruthless crime boss, Nels Decker. Harmon's relationship with Andres (played well by Miguel Alexandro) is touching, as the stoic lawman teaches the orphan more than one life lesson, including the importance of being proud of his heritage. Better to fight for something worthwhile than to rail against things we have no control over. Like the Indian chief and even Arch King, Andres is learning that here is a man he can trust.
That man is portrayed by the ultimate in stoical heroes, Clint Walker, who had already built up a reputation in the extremely popular Western series "Cheyenne" by playing a strong, honorable man for whom an insistence on justice was behind everything he did. In 1971, when Yuma was aired, Walker at 44 was still one of the most physically imposing actors ever to grace the screen. Taller than average with the physique of a man who takes care of himself, he exudes confidence and, oh yes, it didn't hurt that he was one of the most handsome men of any age ever on film. He is adored by fans to this day, not only as an icon of male physical beauty but as a decent, principled human being onscreen and off. To several generations he continues to be the embodiment of strength, honesty, intelligence, and just plain masculine charisma. When asked how he wanted to be remembered, though, Clint Walker said simply, "As a good guy."
Mission accomplished, Mr. Walker.
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