Chester Morris plays Bob Sangster, a cynical young man who was kicked out of New Jerusalem years earlier and is now back to rob its bank, just before Christmas.
He brings along two older outlaws, the illiterate Sam “Gus” Barton (Walter Brennan) and the East-Coast educated James “Doc” Underwood (Lewis Stone).
The holdup goes off with nary a hitch; the trouble starts in the get-away. One water hole the trio hoped to rely on during their trek through the desert has been poisoned; another has been blown to bits by a tenderfoot who later committed suicide.
He left behind a young wife, who is dying. She left behind an infant who is very much alive, and has to rely on three outlaws to remain that way.
Brennan and Stone turn in sterling performances. And if young Bob Sangster’s change of heart strikes the viewer as out of character, this still comes off as a better film that John Ford’s later version of the tale.
Directed by:
Richard Boleslawski
Cast:
Chester Morris … Bob Sangster
Lewis Stone … Doc Underwood
Walter Brennan … Gus Barton
Irene Hervey … Molly
Sidney Toler … Prof. Amos Snape
Dorothy Tree … Blackie Winter
Roger Imhoff … Sheriff
Willard Robertson … Rev. McLane
Robert Livingston … Frank
John Sheehan … Ed
Joseph Marievsky … Pedro
Victor Potel … Buck Tooth
Helen Brown … Mrs. Marshall
Harvey Clark … Marcus Treen
Virginia Brissac … Mrs. McLane
Runtime: 81 min.
Memorable lines:
Sheriff: “I guess I’m just naturally a doubting Thomas. Comes from being a sheriff.
Doc Underwood: “I thought it came from your horoscope.”
Sheriff: “Horos, who?”
Doc: “What’s your birthday, sheriff?”
Sheriff: “January 5th.”
Doc: “Ah, then you were born under Capricorn.”
Sheriff: “No, you got me mixed up. I was born under a tent.”
Bob Sangster: “Say, Doc, why don’t you get rid of them books? They’re nothing but dead weight.”
Doc Underwood: “Dead weight? I guess you’re right, Bob. The only complaint I ever heard about your poetry John Milton. Always a little too heavy.”
Great western. Far superior to the 49 version with John Wayne; that was a lot of sentimental hookum Ford-mush. Ford was a great director if you could keep him from the sentimentality, Irish blarney rubbish he loved so much.