You were informed of the risks before getting on Marshal Dillon. He has a track record of bucking cowpokes, farmhands and tourists like you, a rap sheet as long as your arm. Broken arms, legs, necks, an assortment of deaths. On purpose? Nobody’s been able to ascertain this horse’s motivation; it’s as though the beast doesn’t even care about the carnage left in its wake. The big boss here at Gunsmoke Dude Ranch has a soft spot for him and refuses to take him out of the rotation, probably only because of the name. There’s been an undercurrent of corruption around here since the Reagan administration. You’re lucky you only lost your two front teeth, you know.