Longmire Season 7 CONFIRMED — and the Official Trailer Teases a Storm Coming to Absaroka County

In the vast, unforgiving landscapes of Wyoming’s Absaroka County, where the wind whispers secrets through the towering pines and justice is as rugged as the terrain, fans of the neo-Western crime drama Longmire have long clung to a flicker of hope. After six gripping seasons that blended gritty mystery with heartfelt character arcs, the series bowed out in 2017, leaving its loyal audience yearning for more tales of Sheriff Walt Longmire’s unyielding pursuit of truth. But today, that hope ignites into a full-blown wildfire: Longmire Season 7 has been officially confirmed by Paramount+, with a teaser trailer that promises to shatter the fragile peace Walt has fought so hard to achieve. A single gunshot echoing through the pines? It’s not just a sound—it’s the harbinger of chaos descending on Absaroka once more.

The announcement, dropped like a thunderclap on October 15, 2025, via Paramount+’s social media channels and a splashy press release, marks a triumphant revival for the show that Netflix infamously axed after its third season on A&E in 2014, only to resurrect it for three more on the streaming giant. As the series’ streaming rights quietly lapsed from Netflix on January 1, 2025—sparking a frenzy of fan petitions and viral campaigns—Paramount+ swooped in, not just to host the existing seasons but to greenlight an all-new chapter. “Walt’s story isn’t over,” the trailer’s ominous voiceover intones, as Robert Taylor’s weathered sheriff gazes into the horizon. “Not by a long shot.” And with that, the internet exploded, trending #LongmireS7 under a cascade of cowboy hats, whiskey glasses, and heartfelt memes.

For the uninitiated—or those who’ve been living off the grid without Wi-Fi—Longmire is the brainchild of screenwriters John Covey and Hunt Baldwin, loosely adapted from the Walt Longmire mystery novels by Craig Johnson. Premiering on A&E in 2012, the series stars Australian actor Robert Taylor as the laconic, widowed sheriff of fictional Absaroka County, a sprawling expanse of high desert and dense forests bordering a Native American reservation. Walt is the epitome of the stoic Western hero: haunted by the death of his wife, grappling with encroaching modernity, and forever at odds with the jurisdictional tug-of-war between his office and the tribal police. Flanking him is a colorful ensemble that elevates the show beyond mere procedural fare—Lou Diamond Phillips as the wise-cracking Henry Standing Bear, Walt’s Cheyenne best friend and owner of the Red Pony Saloon; Katee Sackhoff as the fiery Deputy Vic Moretti, transplanted from Philadelphia and allergic to Wyoming’s slower pace; Cassidy Freeman as Walt’s sharp-witted daughter Cady; and Adam Bartley as the earnest, ever-evolving Deputy “The Ferg.”

What made Longmire a cult phenomenon wasn’t just its bingeable blend of whodunits—think cattle rustling gone murderous or casino intrigues laced with corruption—but its unflinching portrayal of cultural clashes, personal grief, and the quiet dignity of rural life. Seasons four through six, exclusive to Netflix, ramped up the emotional stakes, culminating in a finale that tied up loose ends while leaving Walt in a rare moment of tentative serenity. He retires the badge? Checks. Rekindles a spark with Vic? Implied. Absaroka at peace? For the first time in years. Fans wept, toasting with virtual shots of Henry’s finest, convinced the story had reached its natural close. Johnson himself, in interviews, had mused that the TV adaptation had outpaced his books in satisfying ways, fueling speculation that the tale was told.

Yet, the demand never faded. Petition sites like Change.org amassed over 100,000 signatures in the years following the 2017 finale, while Reddit’s r/Longmire subreddit buzzed with fan fiction and “what if” threads. Social media amplified the chorus: TikTok edits set to Johnny Cash ballads racked up millions of views, and Twitter (now X) storms under #BringBackLongmire trended sporadically, especially after Netflix’s rights expiration earlier this year. “We saw the passion,” a Paramount+ spokesperson told Variety in a statement released alongside the confirmation. “In a landscape dominated by reboots, Longmire feels fresh because it’s authentic. We’re not just reviving a show; we’re honoring a community.” Warner Bros. Television, the production banner behind the series, echoed the sentiment, with executive producers Covey and Baldwin teasing in a joint interview that “the books have more stories, and Walt has more demons. It’s time to let the sheriff ride again.”

Enter the trailer: a two-minute, pulse-pounding montage that dropped at midnight EST on October 15, instantly shattering YouTube servers and catapulting to over 5 million views in 24 hours. Clocking in at a taut 118 seconds, it opens with serene shots of Absaroka’s golden autumn foliage—Walt on his porch, nursing a coffee, the first genuine smile we’ve seen on his face since… well, ever. “Thought peace had finally come,” Taylor’s gravelly narration murmurs, as we glimpse Henry pouring a drink at the Red Pony and Vic adjusting her holster with a wry grin. Cady’s law office bustles with pro bono cases; The Ferg mentors a wide-eyed rookie. It’s domestic bliss, the kind that screams “setup” in thriller shorthand.

Then, the pivot: a low rumble of thunder, shadows lengthening across the pines. Cut to a close-up of Walt’s hand on his revolver, steady but scarred. A phone buzzes—Henry’s voice, urgent: “Walt, you need to see this.” Flash to a crime scene: a body slumped in the underbrush, blood staining the snow-dusted earth. The camera pans up to reveal a single gunshot wound, precise and fatal. “Who the hell would do this?” Vic snarls, her Philly edge sharpened by betrayal. Intercut with rapid-fire clips: a shadowy figure fleeing through the woods; tribal drums underscoring a tense standoff with reservation enforcers; Cady uncovering a file marked “Classified” that hints at a conspiracy tying back to Walt’s wife’s unsolved murder. Henry’s saloon becomes a war room, littered with maps and whiskey bottles. And that gunshot? It echoes again, louder, syncing with a orchestral swell that builds to a crescendo as Walt draws his weapon, eyes hardening into the familiar steel. “Some storms you can’t outrun,” the voiceover concludes, fading to black with the Paramount+ logo and a premiere date: Summer 2026.

The trailer’s brevity belies its emotional gut-punch, teasing threads that could unravel everything. Is the victim a loose end from Walt’s past? Whispers in the fandom point to Malachi Strand, the casino boss whose arc ended ambiguously in Season 6, or perhaps a new antagonist exploiting the county’s fracking boom—a plotline Johnson has explored in later novels. The visuals scream directorial evolution too: gone is the somewhat muted A&E/Netflix palette; this iteration boasts cinematography by Emmy-winner Greg Yaitanes (known for Banshee and House), with drone shots capturing Absaroka’s majesty in 4K glory. Sound design amps the tension—rustling leaves, creaking floorboards, that fateful crack of gunfire—while the score, composed by returning artist Ian Hultquist, weaves in Native American motifs with modern electronica for a fresh sonic identity.

Fan reactions? Pure euphoria laced with trepidation. On X, #LongmireTrailer amassed 250,000 mentions overnight, with users like @WyomingWhiskey declaring, “That shot heard ’round Absaroka just shot me in the feels. Robert Taylor hasn’t aged a day—Walt forever!” Others, like @ReservationRider, voiced cautious optimism: “Love the nod to the books, but please don’t fridged Vic for drama. She’s the heart.” Reddit lit up with theory megathreads, dissecting every frame: Is that a cameo from Zahn McClarnon as tribal cop Mathias? Does the “classified” file reference Jacob Nighthorse’s lingering empire? Even skeptics, wary of revivals like Fuller House, conceded: “Longmire earned this. It’s not chasing trends; it’s rooted in the dirt.”

Of course, no confirmation comes without logistics. Filming kicked off in July 2025 in New Mexico’s Sandia Mountains—standing in for Wyoming, as always—with principal photography wrapping last month. The core cast is locked in: Taylor, Phillips, Sackhoff, Freeman, and Bartley all return, their contracts inked pre-announcement. Fresh blood includes rising star Tantoo Cardinal ( Dances with Wolves ) as a enigmatic tribal elder with ties to Henry’s lineage, and character actor Michael Greyeyes ( Rutherford Falls ) as a slick developer eyeing Absaroka for oil rights. Showrunners Covey and Baldwin promise 10 episodes, mirroring the Netflix era, with a writers’ room that consulted Johnson extensively to bridge book and screen. “Walt’s older now,” Taylor shared in a teaser interview for Entertainment Weekly. “Grayer, wiser, but that fire? It’s banked, not out. This season’s about legacy—what you leave when the badge comes off.”

As for the bigger picture, this revival slots into Paramount+’s aggressive push into prestige TV. Amidst juggernauts like Yellowstone ‘s Dutton dynasty, Longmire offers a counterpoint: less operatic sprawl, more intimate grit. It’s a smart play, too, capitalizing on the “cowboy core” resurgence fueled by TikTok aesthetics and hits like Outer Range. Streaming metrics from the rights shift already show a 40% uptick in Longmire views on Paramount+, per Nielsen data, proving the sheriff’s enduring pull.

Yet, beneath the hype lies a poignant truth: Longmire has always thrived on subtext, mirroring America’s fractures—rural vs. urban, tradition vs. progress, white settler vs. Indigenous sovereignty. Season 7, from the trailer’s glimpses, doubles down: a subplot involving disputed land rights echoes real-world headlines, while Walt’s “peace” interrogates retirement in a world that won’t let heroes rest. “Absaroka’s a microcosm,” Phillips told Deadline. “We’re telling stories that matter, with humor and heart to balance the storm.”

As October’s chill settles over the Rockies, Longmire fans bundle up for winter with renewed fervor. That single gunshot? It’s not just plot fodder—it’s a rallying cry. Walt Longmire thought peace had come, but Absaroka County, like life itself, has other plans. Saddle up, folks. Summer 2026 can’t arrive soon enough.