"Each man has a song and this is my song." (Leonard Cohen)

Saturday, October 21, 2017

New Mexico (UA, 1951)


Not bad





 
 
Westerns liked states (or territories) for titles. California, Arizona, Nevada, Texas, and so on. And in fact Sam Peckinpah’s The Deadly Companions in 1961 had New Mexico as an alternative title (obviously, as it was set in Arizona). The 1951 New Mexico is not a bad member of the league, though like many of these pictures it could have been set anywhere in the generic Southwest in the 1860s, 70s, or 80s.

It’s a cavalry/Indians B-Western but it was no zero-budget program-filler. Shot in Ansocolor (though sadly seen nowadays on DVD and on TV in black & white) in glam New Mexico locations, and weighing in at 76 minutes, it also had a strong cast.

Unusually, it starred Lew Ayres (left). Greta Garbo’s leading man in The Kiss in 1929, Paul Baumer in All Quiet on the Western Front (another kind of Western, that) the year after, then Dr. Kildare from ’38 on, Oscar-nominated for Johnny Belinda in ’48, he was quite a star, but he didn’t do Westerns as a rule. He did some TV oaters later on, notably Frontier Justice, but New Mexico was his first and last big-screen Western. He isn’t bad, actually, as the principled and rather pro-Indian Army Captain Hunt battling obnoxious and stupid superiors to try to bring peace to the territory.

He is backed up by some good Western character actors: we have Andy Devine (right) as a slightly comic sergeant, only huge in 1951 and not yet gargantuan. Jeff Corey is rather good (as far as the limited script allows) as the Indian Army scout Coyote, who dies heroically. Raymond Burr is the racist bully Private Anderson (pre-Perry Mason Ray had quite a line in Western heavies) who shoots dead the young son of Chief Acoma, and Acoma himself is played by none other than our old favorite Ted de Corsia, who was often an Indian when he couldn’t be a thuggish gunman. Ian MacDonald and Jack Kelly are other troopers. It’s not a bad line-up.

The leading lady (for of course no matter how unlikely that a professional singer would be with the soldiers as they are besieged by savage Indians on a New Mexico mesa short of bullets and water, there had to be a glamorous blonde up there to entertain the troops with songs) was Marilyn Maxwell (left). A Monroe wannabe, Ms. Maxwell is described in the IMDb bio thus: “Tall and blonde with good looks and a pleasant singing voice, she scampered through a bunch of breezy, forgettable film roles.” She preferred light comedies to Westerns; this was the first of only three she did.  She has to play one of those really annoying dames who ignore warnings of danger, get it into life-threatening situations because of their stupidity and then have to be rescued by the very fellow who told her to stay away from Indian territory.

The picture was directed by Irving Reis, who had worked for RKO and Fox but whose only Western this was. It was produced by Irving Allen – this and a Brian Donlevy B-Western the same year were his only oaters. Considering all these non-specialists, the movie turned out quite well – probably because of Devine & Co.
 
Ted is Chief Acoma
 
It opens with a very saintly and noble Abraham Lincoln (Hans Conried) who has come out to New Mexico to make peace with Chief Acoma. You didn’t know Abe went out West between the end of the war and his assassination? Well, he did. He must have. It shows it in the movie. The bearded and stove-pipe-hatted president often appears in Westerns but usually back in DC planning to unite the nation by building a trans-continental railroad or something. He isn’t often seen getting out of a stagecoach in the dusty West to talk to Apache chiefs. In this picture he is assassinated with an 1870s .45, not Booth’s nasty little derringer.
 
 
Jeff and Ray are in the platoon too
 
Once he is out of the picture (in all senses) his successors oppress the Indians. Stupid martinet Col. McComb (Walter Greaza) and corrupt & cowardly Commissioner Wilcox (Lloyd Corrigan) blunderingly destroy Abe’s carefully-made peace and steal Indian land, and rather understandably Acoma and his thousand braves go on the warpath. That’s the plot. Nothing very original but reasonably well handled, and you’ll probably quite enjoy it if you give it a go.

Commissioner Wilcox comes to a sticky end
 


 

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Born to the Saddle (Astor Pictures Corporation, 1953)


Enjoyable B-Western




 
 
It could be argued that 1953 was the very high point of the Western movie. Paramount’s Shane, Warner Bros’ Hondo and MGM’s The Naked Spur were just some of the superb examples of the genre released that year, with many other enjoyable oaters chasing hard on the hooves of those big studios’ offerings, films such as Escape from Fort Bravo, The Stranger Wore a Gun or The Man from the Alamo. But of course the good old B-Western trotted on, unaffected by these bigger pictures. And you didn’t get much more ‘B’ than Elliott-Shelton Films Inc., Born to the Saddle’s production company, whose only Western this was, or Astor Pictures Corporation, which did the US theatrical release, which though it distributed nearly 300 motion pictures between 1925 and 1962, often re-releases, wasn’t exactly a major distributor of A-pictures. Never mind, they did their best.

Born to the Saddle was directed by William Beaudine (left), who started as a silent movie actor in 1909 but who directed literally hundreds (some say as many as 500) movies between 1915 and 1970, an astonishing record. 80-odd of these were Westerns, usually ultra-low-budget ones. He is probably best known for the drive-in horror classics Billy the Kid Versus Dracula and Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter, both 1966, which no doubt you have thrilled to. To say he didn’t have a clue would probably be unfair; after all, he must have been able to direct a cheap Western in his sleep. But if you rely on a director to elicit good performances from the cast and for a pacey, well-developed plot, then I fear you are going to be disappointed by a Beaudine picture. Never mind again.

It’s the story of a quarter horse – in fact it’s based on the Gordon Young novel Quarter Horse. Sadly Adele Buffington’s screenplay from it is clunky and plodding to a degree. And the actors are, mostly, unable to deliver such obvious lines with anything like authenticity. Still, at the risk of repeating myself, never mind.

It starts with a young boy, Bill, coming to town to find his uncle. Well, I say a young boy: he’s often referred to as that in the script but he was played by Chuck Courtney (right), 23 at the time. Anyway, Bill asks Matt Daggett (Donald Woods), a frock-coated saloon keeper, so obviously therefore a crook, though this time, bizarrely, he has no pencil mustache or derringer, where his uncle might be. The answer is right behind him because just at that mo’ the uncle is taking aim at Daggett. He misses, and shoots the boy in the back. Oops. The uncle is killed by Daggett but the boy survives, nursed back to health by the saloon keeper’s kindly and slightly posh wife Kate (Karen Morley).

Daggett has henchmen, naturally (they were obligatory in them days) and the good news is that one of them, the evilest one of all in fact, is none other than Glenn Strange the Great (that's him in the middle on the left, henching). Any Western, even the B-est of Bs, is lifted by Glenn as a thug. And then a kindly local rancher, Bob Marshall, who has raised the quarter horse and a niece, is Big John Cannon, more than a decade before he bossed The High Chaparral. Leif has black hair, dye altering his Nordic looks. James Arness did the same about this time. Good guys aren’t generally blond in Westerns, I don’t know why. Actually Mr. Erikson topped the bill. I guess he was the biggest star they had, though I would have made Glenn Strange the star myself.
 
The Daggetts, not a happy couple
 
The horse he raised is a good one, and the boy a natural to ride him (hence the movie title) but the niece, Jerri (Dolores Prest) is less of a success. In fact she is arrogant, snobbish and bossy. So we understand in a trice that she and Bill will find true love in the last reel, which they duly do.
 
Tiresome niece
 
Now Daggett is smarmy and to all outward appearances respectable but in fact he beats his wife and dallies with saloon girl Doris, the cad. Bill has developed a schoolboy crush on Mrs. Daggett while being nursed and he gets pretty riled up when he discovers this two-timing behavior on the part of the saloon owner. We sense a showdown looming. It all climaxes on race day, when Bill rides the quarter horse in a big race and of course Daggett tries to nobble the horse, but it wins anyway.
 
Leif is a rich rancher but not yet on the High Chaparral
 
It’s all very predictable and also a little juvenile. I don’t care. I thought it was rather good.

It was shot in Trucolor but is usually now seen in black & white.




 

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Blood on the Arrow (AA, 1964)


Dale is a good badman




 
 
Essentially a 1950s Western, with only a slightly more visible amount of bosom and leg and a little more tomato-sauce gore, this straight-down-the-line Allied Artists color actioner was a post-Tales of Wells Fargo Dale Robertson effort.

Dale (left) is of course best known for his TV horse operas, particularly Wells Fargo but also later Iron Horse and as host of Death Valley Days. But he did a good number of big-screen Westerns too, starting as a cameo Jesse James in the Randolph Scott picture Fighting Man of the Plains in 1949 and leading from 1952 on - The Outcasts of Poker Flat was his first star role. We’ve reviewed quite a few on this blog: try, for example, The Silver Whip, City of Bad Men or The Gambler from Natchez. Blood on the Arrow was in fact his last feature Western (if you discount the cartoon The Man from Button Willow). Afterwards it would be only TV. As a boy I was a dyed-in-the-wool Wells Fargo fan so Dale could do no wrong.

In Blood on the Arrow Dale is badman Wade Cooper, wanted in Bisbee (so someone had been reading Elmore Leonard or watching 3:10). He is backed up in Blood on the Arrow by the less then spectacular Wendell Corey (right) and Martha Hyer. Corey was never good in Westerns, unsuited to the genre in my view. He was a Hal B Wallis find who got a contract with Paramount but like Dale he did mostly TV work. As for big-screen Westerns, he was miscast in Anthony Mann's The Furies in 1950, was an unconvincing Frank James in the Paramount B-Western The Great Missouri Raid in ’51 (with Macdonald Carey as an equally unlikely Jesse), and he himself became a silly Jesse in the Bob Hope comedy Western Alias Jesse James in ’59. In Blood on the Arrow he plays an unpleasant and abusive husband and father who has struck it rich with a mine in 1871 Arizona, with Coyotero Apaches under Chief Kai-La (Robert Carricart) on the warpath.

Martha Hyer (left), Corey’s long-suffering wife in the movie, had been Jock Mahoney’s amour in Universal’s Showdown at Abilene in 1956 and the year after Blood on the Arrow she would be John Wayne’s in Paramount’s The Sons of Katie Elder. She would soon also become Mrs. Hal B Wallis. In Blood on the Arrow she does OK, I guess, looking very mid-60s though, with done-up blonde hair and plunging décolleté. She is first seen in one of those pools which are always conveniently situated in the desert in Westerns for women daringly to bathe in.

The plot concerns Corey offering rifles to the Indians in return for their lives. Dale proposes to steal the weapons from the quartermaster’s stores at nearby Apache Bend in return for a big chunk of the gold in Corey’s mine. The Apaches take the little boy hostage as a guarantee. As you know, providing the Indians with guns in Westerns is a crime somewhere on the scale of evil between cannibalism and matricide. The Army captain (Boyce Wright) expresses disgust than even a man such as Wade Cooper could “turn against his own people” – for, you see, Apaches are not Americans. Actually, though, we know perfectly well even in the first reel that as it’s Dale he won’t actually hand the firesticks over to Kai-La. They’ll probably end up blown up in the mine or something.
 
Martha spends much of the movie in a rather un-1871 blouse
 
The best thing about the cast is Wade’s gang, when they turn up (they have been lurking in Nogales) because they contain Ted de Corsia as Jud and Elisha Cook Jr. as Tex. Ted is quite dandified and appears to be still wearing the costume he had donned as Shanghai Pierce in Gunfight at the OK Corral seven years earlier, though it now seems rather the worse for wear, understandably. Elisha, always dependable as a gang member, was far from at the end of his Western career (he’d still be soldiering on in Tom Horn in 1980). There are another couple of bandits, Mike and Charlie (John Matthews and Tom Reese) but they are soon dispensed with, Mike gunned down by Wade in a quick-draw showdown and Charlie falling prey to an Apache arrow. You see, this picture is about four bad men and a badman. Regular readers will recognize the distinction. And if you’re not a regular reader, well, shame on you.
 
Ted as Shanghai
 
The picture was directed by good old Sidney Salkow (that's Sid, below) and written by equally meritorious Robert E Kent. Oft have we waxed lyrical on the careers of these two. It was shot in nice southern Arizona locations (so plenty of saguaros) in a bright color. There’s action all the way. I thought it was rather good.
 
 
You will not be surprised to learn (so no spoiler here) that the US Cavalry arrives at the last moment, all the bad guys are eliminated and Dale and Martha go off with the little boy to start a new life in California, a new family unit, just as in HondoThe Tin Star, Yuma, Face of a Fugitive, Quantrill’s Raiders, Trooper Hook and any number of other Westerns you care to name.

Definitely watchable.

 

 

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Sundown Saunders (Supreme Pictures, 1935)


Bob bests the bad guys and gets the girl






Sundown Saunders was a Bob Steele Western cooked up and directed by Bob’s dad, RN Bradbury. It’s a classic mid-30s one-hour programmer with all the proper ingredients. And Earl Dwire is the sheriff – hoorah!

Bob is extremely popular Bar X cowhand Sundown Saunders. The other cowboys practically applaud every time he appears. I wonder if he was related to Singin’ Sandy Saunders (John Wayne) from Riders of Destiny, or, come to that, Tex Saunders (Tex Ritter) from Heading for the Rio Grande or Wild Bill Saunders (Bill Elliott) from Pioneers of the Frontier or Blackie Saunders (Tom Tyler) from Riders of the Plains, or any of the other Saunderses. It was a mighty big clan. Or maybe he was related to The Sundown Kid (Don ‘Red’ Barry) in Two Gun Sheriff or Sundown Jim (John Kimbrough) or indeed Seven Ways from Sundown (Audie Murphy). But enough speculation on his family tree, unrecorded by the genealogists and not set down in Burke's Western Peerage, more's the pity.

It’s a normal skullduggery plot in which bad guy Taggart (stocky Ed Cassidy; baddy in a number of B-Westerns of the period) pretends to be a government agent and sells a ranch to gullible sheepherder Preston (Jack Rockwell, lantern-jawed brother of Charles Trowbridge, almost always a lawman but this time that job was taken by Earl so he was relegated to sheepman) and his fair but equally credulous daughter Bess (Marie Burton, aka Catherine Cotter, 33 B-movies including half a dozen Westerns 1932 – 39).
 
Sheriff Dwire chats to bad guy Cassidy in the saloon. Of course the lawman is on to him.
 
This ranch, though, actually belongs to Sundown Saunders! He’s awfully good about it, however, and doesn’t tell the girl and her pa to get off his place pronto. In fact he doesn’t even mention it’s his. Still, it doesn’t matter because we know he’s going to fall for Bess, and, indeed, vice-versa, so they’ll all live happily on the ranch together. And Mr. Preston says he’s going to sell his sheep and buy cattle, so that’s alright. You know how sheepmen are regarded in Westerns. Somewhere on the scale between axe-murderers and cannibals.
 
Bob Steele and his dad cooking up another oater
 
Sundown’s old-timer sidekick Smokey is good old Milburn Morante (billed here as Milt Morante) and he duly helps out. Lloyd Ingraham is the doc. He is involved in treating the various victims of GSWs inflicted by bad-guy Taggart (in the back) which include Mr. Preston, and he is persuaded to fake the death of Preston when it was only in fact a flesh wound. Cunning, huh.
 
Milburn and Bob, pards
 
There’s much climbing in and out of hotel rooms and in the end Sheriff Dwire swears in the Bar X boys as deputies and they all gallop to the rescue like well-trained cavalry, wearing rather dashing white kerchiefs on their heads to distinguish them from the outlaws. It’s all gripping stuff. And you should see the nifty way Bob mounts up.

Bradbury knew a thing or two about short Westerns, as all those Monogram ones he did with John Wayne proved. They were pacey and full of action.

If you watch this one you won’t be bored.

Of course he gets the girl


 

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Bad Man of Deadwood (Republic, 1941)


Roy's up in Deadwood now




 
 
I kinda prefer early Roy Rogers Westerns, before Trigger got so darned intelligent. Roy had emerged from the Sons of the Pioneers in 1938 to lead in oaters and he’d been Billy the Kid, Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill Hickok and Jesse James by 1941, not a bad achievement. When Sheriff of Tombstone in May ’41 he’d been Brett Starr, and he returned as Brett Starr, though under the assumed name of Bill Brady, up in Deadwood in September. Later on, of course, he abandoned all these characters and played ‘Roy Rogers’.

Notice that the title refers to a ‘bad man’ and not a ‘badman’. Western badmen were semi-goodies, indeed Roy himself, saintly as he was, could sometimes be a badman, that is a fellow who had been on the wrong side of the law but was deep down a goody – witness all those Jesses and Billys and so on. They were usually set back on the path of Righteousness by the redeeming love of a good woman. No, bad men were a different breed altogether – the villains. In this one the title refers to the scheming Deadwood newspaper editor Ted Carver (Henry Brandon, well before he became Scar). Carver comes across as law-abidin’, if rather pusillanimous, and even sets his cap at his glam assistant Linda (Carol Adams) but in reality he is a skunk, the leader of the crooks who have treed the town.

Irrefutable evidence of Carver’s skunkery is given later in the picture when he disposes of two of his co-conspirators (Hal Taliaferro and Jay Novello) who were about to skip town on the first stage with the loot, and he does it with a derringer! Derringers, as you know, are employed by crooked saloon owners, disreputable gamblers and louche saloon women. Actually, later still, in the last reel in fact, Carver, in the rocks outside Deadwood, manages to shoot Roy’s hat off at a thousand yards with the pop-gun, a feat of marksmanship which would have had the editors of the 1880 edition of the Guinness Book of Records reeling with disbelief.
 
 
Brett – I mean Bill – first appears in Deadwood with Gabby Hayes’s traveling medicine show. He is the singing crack-shot artist who entertains the crowd (actually, though, Roy hardly sings at all in this picture). Gabby does his usual comic old-timer act, and has some good lines. I liked it when Roy is shot (only a flesh wound, natch) and he whips out a bottle of his elixir. When asked if it works, he replies, “Why, it makes bullet wounds plumb beneficial.”
 
 
There’s a corrupt sheriff (good old Monte Blue) in the pocket of the crooks, as was traditional. It doesn’t take long to work out that Roy will be wearing that star by the end of the movie, and indeed it ends with him pinning it on (again), so now he has a steady job and can ask for Linda’s hand in marriage (for of course she has seen through her skunkish employer).

Trigger is there, of course, and carries Roy about but the fancy palomino isn’t even named; he’s just Roy’s horse. And he doesn’t do any tricks and isn’t at all (yet) the smartest horse in the movies. He was probably still learning.
 
 
There’s a good armored stage, a sort of prototypical war wagon, which Roy and Gabby rob – not to keep the money, of course, just to get evidence against the evil Carver.
 
It may be Deadwood but there's no sign of Wild Bill or Jack McCall.
 
Henry Brandon before he became a Comanche
 
Still, there’s a lot of gallopin’ and shootin’, and the US Cavalry arrives at the last moment. All good stuff. They weren’t junk, you know, these Republic oaters. They were positively big-budget compared with the Bob Steele/Buster Crabbe PRC Billy the Kid programmers we have been reviewing lately. This one, like so many others, was directed by Republic regular (I nearly said hack) Joseph Kane, also billed as associate producer. Mind, he could have done it in his sleep.

Worth seeing for the derringer.

 

 

Friday, October 6, 2017

Billy the Kid in Texas (PRC, 1940)


Billy wears a star




 
 
I couldn’t resist another Bob Steele/Billy the Kid picture. I was talking the other day about Billy the Kid’s Gun Justice, which came out in December 1940. Well, Billy the Kid in Texas was released in September that year. The first of the series, Billy the Kid Outlawed, which we’ll review another day (if you feel strong enough) came out in July.

These Billies were of course goodies, falsely accused of the crimes laid at the Kid’s door. I was saying in the review of Gun Justice that he even became a lawman once, though that was in Sheriff of Sage Valley when Buster Crabbe had taken over the role. Well, it was evidently something of a habit, because in Texas too Bob’s Billy is made sheriff by the townsfolk, and faithful Fuzzy (Al St. John) proudly gets to wear a deputy’s star.

Audie Murphy would start his Western career as Billy, in The Kid from Texas, when, probably because of Audie’s Texas roots, they decided that William Bonney was a Texan. He wasn’t, but he did go to Texas and was in the Panhandle from time to time, rustling stock or carefully avoiding detection. So Billy the Kid in Texas does have some plausibility.

In the story he arrives in Corral, TX, where, obviously, bad guys have treed the sheriffless town. They are cowhands from the Lazy 8 but these aren’t simple cowboys hurrahing the place (though they do that too) but crooks and thugs who hold up the express company’s deliveries.
 
He's may appear a baddy in black but actually he's just ridin' the West doin' Good
 
It all starts with a robbery, which Billy foils, and much galloping and shooting - one of those chases where they fire six-shooters with abandon on horseback, hitting nothing of course, and the revolvers have at least twenty shots in them before needing reloading. Anyway, ‘Billy Clark’, as he calls himself, recovers the stolen money and proves himself adept with a firearm so is the ideal candidate to wear the sheriff’s star. No one knows (yet) that he is Billy Bonney, you see.
 
Al amuses the juvenile audience
 
Now in Gun Justice, Carleton Young would be his other sidekick, Jeff, but this time Carleton (misspelled as Carlton in the credits) is Billy’s brother, Gil. He has allied himself with the bad guys and is tasked with shooting down the new Sheriff Clark. At the last mo’ he recognizes his bro, and they fudge the showdown and hatch up a plot together to foil the baddies.
 
Carleton and Bob, brothers
 
It’s all predictable (note, I did not say corny) and formulaic. Director (Sam Newfield this time) and writer Joseph O’Donnell go through the motions and tick all the boxes (on a very limited Poverty Row budget). There’s a saloon where fisticuffs can take place, as was compulsory in them days. Naturally there’s a fair maid in town, Mary (Terry Walker), and some comic antics from Fuzzy. Slim Whitaker is the driver. Billy is dressed all in black and rides a fancy palomino. Maybe he’s trying to be Randolph Scott.
 
The fair maid
 
It’s all enjoyable fun, even if history teachers would be well advised to stay away, to avoid having palpitations.

Obviously bad guys. You can tell from the mustaches.


 

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Billy the Kid’s Gun Justice (PRC, 1940)


Billy the Kid rides (yet) again




 
 
PRC, Producers Releasing Corporation, usually known as Poverty Row Corp, invested quite heavily in Billy the Kid movies from 1940 to ’43. Inasmuch as they ever invested heavily in anything, that is. There were in fact nineteen one-hour Billy programmers between those dates. Try, for example, Billy the Kid’s Smoking Guns or Billy the Kid Trapped. You will be thrilled. Bob Steele started as Billy before, in October ’41, giving way to Buster Crabbe. Buster was Billy the Kid the most, thirteen times, but Bob didn’t do badly: he was Billy six times. Al St. John was Billy's comic old-timer sidekick, Fuzzy (sidekicks were compulsory in them days) and he didn’t seem to notice that the Kid's face had changed somewhere in the summer of ’41. He just went right on sidekickin’. Bob, Buster, what's the difference?
 
Buster as Billy
 
In these Bob ‘n’ Buster flicks Billy was a goody, ridin’ the range and Doing Good – helping out sturdy farmers and damsels in distress and so forth, and rescuing them from the nefarious schemes of crooked saloon owners and suchlike. Hell, in one of them, Sheriff of Sage Valley, he was even a lawman. These Billies were nominally outlaws, and sort of hiding from the law, but they never actually did anything bad.

Buster was 32 when he started as Billy and Bob 33, so both were a little geriatric to play the homicidal teenager, but I don’t think anyone minded, or even noticed.
 
Bob as Billy
 
Billy the Kid’s Gun Justice was a typical Bob example. Having saved Ann, a fair homesteader’s daughter (Louise Currie) from some bullies who are henchmen of crooked saloon owner Cobb Allen (Al Ferguson), Billy finds out that Allen is operating a lowdown scheme, killing decent farmers, grabbing their land and then selling it to other farmers – but he has diverted all the water, and wants another thousand dollars to let it flow to the farms. Of course Allen has a suit and a thin mustache – they were obligatory for crooked saloon owners – and would normally also be expected to whip out a sneaky derringer at a key moment, but this time he just has a banal Colt .45, which is a disappointment.
 
Bob 'n' Al
 
The sets are cheap and the characters spend a lot of the time explaining the plot to each other. Location scenes in which Bob or the baddies gallop from one cabin to another are short and perfunctory.

As for some odd reason Western heroes in those days were expected to have two sidekicks, a crusty old-timer one and a smoothie type the gals might fall for, in addition to Fuzzy we also have Carleton Young as Jeff (excellent name for a Westerner). A Republic and Poverty Row regular, Carleton was often to be seen as sidekick or heavy in cheap Westerns. Later, in fact, he did much better, being noticed by John Ford and getting quite big parts in Ford and John Wayne Westerns. He starred in the episode of Wagon Train that Ford directed, The Colter Craven Story, and was in fact rather good.

I always liked Bob Steele (left). He was producer/director/writer RN Bradbury’s son, and started in movies aged 14 with his twin brother Bill in Bradbury’s The Adventures of Bob and Bill. Bob started leading in Westerns right back in the silent days and IMDb credits him with an astonishing 311 Western appearances between 1921 and an uncredited bit-part in a 1971 James Garner picture. He became a talkie B-Western star in the 30s but by the 1940s his star was rather on the wane, as so often happened. In fact Rex Lease, another former star, also descended to Poverty Row and appears, briefly, as “Henchman Buck” in Billy the Kid’s Gun Justice. Oh howe are the myghtie ouerthrowen (Samuel I, 19), as you have no doubt oft reflected.

Well, there are fisticuffs, ambushes, a treasure map and double-crossing, in the best tradition, and naturally the pards win out and they best the bad guys who are carted off to jail. The boys ride off for another adventure in about a month’s time. Doubtless the young boys in the audience were enthralled and maybe even the girls weren’t too bored.