The latest Yellowstone spin-off is really hitting it’s stride with the fourth episode. Start With A Bullet delivers one of the most emotionally wrenching hours in the entire Yellowstone universe, as it continues to carve its own gritty path while honouring the raw legacy of its predecessor.
From the moment the episode opens on the bleak reality of a herd already showing signs of infection, the tone is set: this is not going to be an easy watch. Beth (Kelly Reilly) and Rip (Cole Hauser) have relocated to South Texas seeking a fresh start after the chaos and wildfire that forced them out of Montana, but Episode 4 is a brutal reminder that the land—and the responsibilities that come with it—never grants easy reprieves. The foot-and-mouth disease outbreak that has taken hold forces a devastating decision, one that will shape the series going forward.
There is an unflinching commitment to realism here, there is no miracle cure for a real world scenario. Ranching life, especially on this scale, has always been portrayed with authenticity in Taylor Sheridan’s world, but here the series leans even harder into the unglamorous, heartbreaking logistics of livestock management. The discovery of the disease, the failed attempts at quarantine, and the ultimate necessity of culling the entire herd – including the calf Rip rescued earlier in the season, the last remnant of their old life – unfold with a near documentary-style precision that makes the horror feel immediate and personal. Rip’s quiet warning to his crew that this day will haunt them forever lands like a gut punch because Hauser sells it with such restrained anguish. You believe every ounce of his regret.
The most impactful part of the episode is the extended sequence depicting the cull itself. It is long, methodical, and devastating. Guns are loaded, drinks are poured in somber preparation, and then the work begins. The camera lingers on the process, the herding into a massive trench, the shots ringing out, the sheer volume of loss. It refuses to sanitize the cost of running a ranch. Rip’s final moments with the last animal, murmuring that it didn’t deserve this fate before pulling the trigger, is one of the most quietly powerful scenes in the franchise. There’s no epic showdowns, no histrionics, just a man sadly doing what needs to be down. It captures the moral weight these characters carry, the impossible choices between livelihood, ethics, and survival.
This harrowing sequence inevitably calls to mind one of the most memorable and thematically resonant cattle culls in cinematic history: the foot-and-mouth disease slaughter in Martin Ritt’s 1963 classic Hud, starring Paul Newman. In that film, the Bannon family’s herd is condemned after a single infected animal is discovered, leading to a government-mandated extermination that serves as both a plot pivot and a profound symbol of lost legacy. Homer Bannon (Melvyn Douglas), the principled patriarch, insists on doing the right thing despite the financial ruin, while his rebellious son Hud pushes for a more self-serving workaround. The scene unfolds with the same stark, almost clinical detachment that is used in the episode – cattle herded into a pit, shots fired, bodies piling up – capturing the horror and emotional devastation without exploiting graphic violence that is taking place.
Both sequences ground their drama in the brutal pragmatism of ranching during an outbreak: no cure, no exceptions, only eradication to protect the wider industry. Yet where Hud uses the cull to underscore generational and moral conflict—Homer’s integrity versus Hud’s amorality—The shows take internalizes the tragedy more personally. Rip shoulders the burden himself, his quiet resolve masking deep regret over the possibly sabotaged bull he purchased. His adopted son keep away from the tragedy that is unfolding to prevent any trauma or protest. There’s no flashy antagonist arguing against the cull; instead, the horror is shared among a tight-knit crew, with Beth offering steadfast support. Both scenes refuse sentimentality, but Dutton Ranch lingers longer on the intimate human cost – the shell casings littering the ground, the eerie silence afterward, Rip’s haunted expression – making it feel like a spiritual successor updated for modern sensibilities. It’s a testament to shows storytelling that it can evoke the spirit of Hud’s unflinching realism while making the moment distinctly his own within the Dutton saga.
Kelly Reilly is compelling as Beth Dutton. The character continues her evolution of what she was in Yellowstone – somewhat softened by her life with Rip and their son Carter, yet still possessing that steel core. Her support for Rip during the crisis feels genuine and layered; she’s not just the fiery protector anymore but a partner shouldering the emotional and practical burdens alongside him. Reilly’s performance walks a delicate line, hinting at Beth’s old fire simmering beneath the surface without rushing her back into full Yellowstone mode.
Cole Hauser, as always, is magnetic as Rip. He carries the physical and emotional toll of the episode on his shoulders. Hauser has always excelled at portraying quiet strength, but here there’s an added layer of vulnerability that makes Rip feel more human than ever. The mistake of buy the sick bull weighs on him, and you see the self-doubt creeping in, even as he pushes forward. The is probably the most vulnerable we have every seen Rip.
The episode balances its heavier elements with subplots that expand on the Dutton’s new reality. Carter (Finn Little) continues his rebellious streak, skipping school to learn the ropes from an experiences ranch hand. These scenes offer a break from the darkness that Carter is being shielded from – youthful energy and the passing down of cowboy wisdom – giving a hope for the future of the lifestyle. It adds a light touch without undercutting the episode’s gravity.
Ed Harris as veterinarian Everett brings gravitas and a sense of weary experience to his scenes, while Annette Bening’s Beulah Jackson continues to intrigue as a the matriarch of the 10 Petal Ranch, this shows analogue of the Yellowstone – complete with own bunkhouse of unsavoury types, and whose own troubles hint at larger conflicts ahead. Their brief exchanges crackle and there is a shared history that we are being drip-fed.
The episode grapples with legacy, sacrifice, and the cyclical nature of hardship on the land. Beth and Rip’s move was meant to be a new beginning, but Episode 4 suggests that the Dutton spirit—resilience forged in fire and blood—remains unchanged. Suspicions of sabotage surrounding the infected bull add a layer of intrigue and potential revenge that will surely propel future episodes in a more traditional Yellowstone style – personal drama intertwined with larger questions about industry, community, and survival.
It’s heavy, perhaps one of the bleakest entries in the franchise – on a par with the events in 1923 – but it’s also profoundly moving. Beth and Rip’s journey in Texas is off to a rocky, heartbreaking start, but it’s one filled with promise for deeper exploration of what it truly means to build—and fight for—a legacy, and you know the fight is coming and Rip and Beth will do whatever it takes to win.
🌟🌟🌟🌟
We Have Issues 