John Wayne’s Horse Sensed He Was Dying Before Anyone Else Did—Their Final Goodbye Will Break You 

September 1971, John Wayne’s horse refused to leave his side on the cowboys set. The crew noticed something impossible. The animal knew Wayne was dying before anyone else did. What happened between man and horse over the next 7 years would prove that some bonds transcend words. Here is the story. New Mexico, September 14th, 1971.

The Cowboys film set. Desert location. Temperature pushing 95° by noon. John Wayne sits on a rock between takes. 64 years old. Cancer survivor. One lung removed 7 years ago. His breathing is labored in the heat. An Appaloosa horse walks over unbidden. No handler leading him. Banner. 22 years old.

 Ancient for a horse. Gray coat with distinctive spotted hind quartarters. been in six Wayne films over 15 years. Stage coach, Rio Grand, The Searchers, More. The horse stops beside Wayne, lowers his head, nuzzles Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne reaches up, scratches behind Banner’s ears. Hey, old man. Banner doesn’t move, just stands there close, protective.

Pete Collins, the horse wrangler, watches from 30 ft away. 55 years old, been working with horses for 40 years. He’s never seen this behavior. Horses avoid sick people. It’s instinct. They smell disease, sense weakness. They get nervous, skittish, pull away. Banner is doing the opposite. Pete walks over. Duke, he’s been following you all morning. Wayne looks up.

 Following me? Since you got here? Walked right past his feed. walked past the other horses, came straight to you and hasn’t left. Wayne scratches Banner’s neck. Just wants attention. Pete shakes his head. No, Duke. He knows. Knows what? Pete’s voice drops. Horses know when someone’s sick. They sense it.

 Usually, they avoid that person. But Banner, he pauses. He’s staying with you because he knows you’re not well. He’s keeping watch. Wayne’s jaw tightens. I’m fine, Duke. I said I’m fine. Pete backs off, but he keeps watching, and what he sees over the next two weeks will convince him that animals understand things humans can’t explain.

Banner won’t leave Wayne’s side. Between takes, he stands near Wayne’s chair. During lunch, he positions himself close enough to touch. At the end of the day, when Wayne walks to his trailer, Banner follows until his handler leads him away. The crew notices, whispers, “You seen that horse?” Won’t leave Duke alone. It’s like he’s guarding him.

September 22nd, 8 days into filming, they’re shooting a riding scene. Wayne on Banner. Simple shot. Ride across the desert. Stop. Dismount. Director Mark Ryell calls action. Wayne and Banner ride 30 yards, 50, 75. Then Wayne sways in the saddle just slightly. His hand grips the saddle horn harder.

 Banner stops immediately without command. Just stops dead and stands completely still. Wayne leans forward, breathes hard. The crew doesn’t realize what’s happening. They think he’s acting, but Banner knows. The horse’s ears are back, listening to Wayne’s breathing. His body is tense. Ready. Wayne straightens slowly. I’m okay, boy. Banner doesn’t move until Wayne’s breathing steadies.

 Only then does he walk forward slow and careful like he’s carrying something fragile. They finish the shot. Wayne dismounts. His legs nearly buckle. He catches himself on Banner’s saddle. The horse stands like stone. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. lets Wayne use him for support until Pete and the crew reach them. Duke, you need to see a doctor.

 I’m fine, just the heat. But everyone knows Wayne is weakening. The cancer is winning. And Banner knows it, too. That evening, as Pete leads Banner back to the corral, the horse keeps turning his head, looking back at Wayne’s trailer. A low knicker, the sound horses make when calling to their herd. Pete stops. Let Banner look. I know,

 boy. I know. Have you ever had an animal sense something about you that no human could see? That connection goes deeper than we understand. Filming wraps October 1971. Wayne goes home to Newport Beach. Banner is transported to the ranch that owns him. Pete Collins goes with him to settle him in. The horse won’t eat, won’t drink, just stands at the fence looking toward the road.

 Pete calls Wayne. Duke, I don’t know how to say this, but Banner’s grieving. He won’t eat. I think I think he’s looking for you. Silence on the line. Then I’ll come by tomorrow. Wayne drives 2 hours, shows up at the ranch, walks to the fence, banner sees him from 100 yards away, lifts his head, knickers, trots to the fence despite his age and arthritis.

Wayne climbs through the rails. Banner presses his head against Wayne’s chest. Wayne wraps his arms around the horse’s neck. They stand like that for 5 minutes. Man and horse, both old, both damaged, both knowing what the other won’t say. I know, Wayne whispers. I know, boy. Banner starts eating again that day, but only after Wayne’s visit.

 Over the next seven years, Wayne visits Banner every few months. Sometimes he’s filming nearby and stops by. Sometimes he drives 2 hours just to see the horse. They never do much. Wayne brings apples orcarrots, scratches Banner’s neck, talks to him about nothing important, the weather, the latest film, how his kids are doing.

 Banner listens, ears forward, eyes soft, like he understands every word. 1975, Wayne is diagnosed with stomach cancer. Surgery removes most of his stomach. He loses 40 lb. Looks gaunt, gray. He visits Banner 3 weeks after surgery. Can barely walk from the car to the fence. Banner sees him. The horse’s entire body changes.

 Ears back, head low. He walks to Wayne slowly, carefully, like approaching something breakable. Banner touches Wayne’s chest with his nose. Gentle. So gentle. Then just stands there breathing with him. Pete watches from the barn. He’s crying. 40 years with horses and he’s never seen this. Never seen an animal understand mortality.

Wayne is filming The Shudest, his final film. He’s dying on screen and off. He visits Banner between filming weeks. The horse is 26 now, very old, moving slow, gray muzzle, but his eyes are still bright. They stand together in the paddic. Wayne leans against Banner’s shoulder.

 The horse supports his weight without complaint. “We’re both running out of time, old man,” Wayne says. Banner turns his head, looks at Wayne. And in that look, Pete swears this tells the story for the next 40 years. The horse knows knows they won’t have much longer. 1978 January. Wayne is very sick. Can barely leave home, but he hears Banner is declining fast.

 Not eating well. Arthritis severe. Veterinarian says maybe weeks, maybe days. Wayne drives to the ranch. Can barely walk now. Uses a cane. Pete meets him at the gate. Duke, I called you because I think he’s waiting for you. They walk to Banner’s stall slowly. Wayne has to stop twice to rest. Banner is lying down.

 Horses don’t lie down much. It’s hard on their organs. A horse lying down in daytime is usually dying. Wayne kneels beside him. Takes 10 seconds to get down. His knees won’t bend right anymore. Banner lifts his head. Touches Wayne’s hand with his nose. Wayne runs his hand down Banner’s neck over and over. The way he’s done for 27 years. Good boy.

 Good boy. You’ve been the best horse a man could ask for. Carried me through more films than I can count. Never let me down. Not once. His voice breaks. You can rest now. You don’t have to wait for me anymore. I’ll be okay. Banner’s breathing is labored. His eyes are clouding, but he keeps his nose pressed to Wayne’s hand.

 They stay like that for 40 minutes. Wayne talking quietly. Banner listening. Pete standing back, giving them privacy. Finally, Wayne stands. Takes Pete 3 minutes to help him up. His knees are locked from kneeling so long. Take care of him, Pete. Always have Duke. Wayne walks away without looking back. He can’t.

 If he looks back, he’ll break. Banner dies 3 days later. January 28th, 1978, peacefully in his sleep, 27 years old. Pete calls Wayne with the news. Silence on the line. Then he was a good horse. The best I ever worked with. Thank you for taking care of him. Duke, he loved you. I know that sounds crazy, but horses don’t love many people.

 Banner loved you. Wayne’s voice is rough. I loved him too more than most people would understand. They’re quiet for a moment. Then Wayne, send me the bill for his burial. Duke, you don’t have to send me the bill. He deserves a proper burial. Pete burries banner on the ranch under an oak tree. Marker with his name and dates.

 Banner 1951 to 1978. faithful companion. Wayne sends a check for $500, far more than burial costs. Pete uses the extra to plant roses around the grave. Wayne dies June 11th, 1979, 16 months after Banner. At the funeral, someone asks Pete Collins to speak. He tells the story about Banner, about the horse who knew Wayne was dying before anyone else, about their final visit, about how Banner waited to say goodbye.

Duke played heroes his whole life, Pete says. But Banner didn’t care about that. Didn’t care about movies or fame. He just knew the man and he loved the man. That’s the truest kind of loyalty there is. 43 years later, the owner of that ranch, Pete’s grandson, tells this story to visitors, shows them Banner’s grave under the oak tree.

 The roses still bloom every spring. My grandfather said he worked with hundreds of horses in his life, but he never saw a bond like the one between Banner and John Wayne. Said it proved that animals understand things we can’t, that they know souls, not reputations. And Banner knew John Wayne’s soul better than most humans did.

 The marker is weathered now, but you can still read the name. Banner and carved below, he knew. Two words that sum up everything. The horse that knew Wayne was dying, that knew he needed company, that knew love doesn’t require language, just presence, just standing close, just staying until the end. That’s what Banner gave Wayne. And in return, Wayne gave Banner something most horses never get.

 A name remembered, a grave honored, a story told. Because loyalty deserves memory, and lovedeserves to be spoken, even if it’s between a cowboy and his horse. What’s the most profound nonhuman connection you’ve ever experienced? Sometimes animals understand us better than people do. And unfortunately, they don’t make men like John Wayne anymore.