Scott is arrested by James Millican, a detective for the Pleasonton Agency. The two have nothing personal against each other. When the detective is accidentally killed, someone has to cut off his hand to free Scott from the handcuffs. Scott takes the detective's place and, a bit later, is made sheriff of Lanyard, Kansas. He makes friends. He makes enemies. There are unscrupulous businessmen. Scott cleans the whole place up and gets the girl.
By this point in his career Scott had decided, wisely, to turn out nothing but Westerns. He looked and acted the part well. According to Bob Osborne's commentary on TV, Scott enjoyed working out of doors, sitting back and reading the Wall Street Journal while the stunt men did the rough work. Scott was a keen investor and retired a wealthy man to the golf country of North Carolina without ever looking back at Hollywood. He bowed out after Sam Pekinpaugh's "Ride the High Country," a good note to leave on. He managed his career -- his life -- pretty well, all in all.
Most of his Westerns were, if not exactly identical, cut from the same mold so the comparison of one to any of the others must depend on fine judgments about details. Is the film in glorious color? This one is not. Is the location interesting and evocative? Not this one, which looks like the San Fernando Valley used to look before the last inch of it was paved over. Better than usual support? No. Is Scott given any help from the script? An oddity of character? A quirk? An occasional wry turn of phrase? Not here. The result is a typical and not unrewarding Randolph Scott Western that doesn't distinguish itself from the many others he made in these years.
Nice to see Victor Jory as something other than an open sleaze bag.
By this point in his career Scott had decided, wisely, to turn out nothing but Westerns. He looked and acted the part well. According to Bob Osborne's commentary on TV, Scott enjoyed working out of doors, sitting back and reading the Wall Street Journal while the stunt men did the rough work. Scott was a keen investor and retired a wealthy man to the golf country of North Carolina without ever looking back at Hollywood. He bowed out after Sam Pekinpaugh's "Ride the High Country," a good note to leave on. He managed his career -- his life -- pretty well, all in all.
Most of his Westerns were, if not exactly identical, cut from the same mold so the comparison of one to any of the others must depend on fine judgments about details. Is the film in glorious color? This one is not. Is the location interesting and evocative? Not this one, which looks like the San Fernando Valley used to look before the last inch of it was paved over. Better than usual support? No. Is Scott given any help from the script? An oddity of character? A quirk? An occasional wry turn of phrase? Not here. The result is a typical and not unrewarding Randolph Scott Western that doesn't distinguish itself from the many others he made in these years.
Nice to see Victor Jory as something other than an open sleaze bag.