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An outlaw murders several Apaches and flees to a stagecoach way station with the tribe in hot pursuit. A stagecoach and its passengers have just pulled into the station, as has the stationmaster's father, a former bandit named Peso, and they all find themselves besieged by the Apaches, who want them to turn over the killer to them or they'll take the station and kill everybody. The problem is that the people in the station aren't sure just who among therm is the actual killer.Written by
In its black-and-white photography, unimaginative wardrobe, and perfunctory sets, it resembles one of the many Western series that were to dominate the television screen for the next twenty years. The performances and direction follow suit.
The always reliable Gilbert Roland -- reliable if you don't ask too much of him -- is Peso Herrera, a likable and roguish thief who rides into the adobe compound and says the Apache are after him. Soon they will send the war signals and will slaughter everyone in the camp, including the two lovely ladies, one earnest and pretty brunette with the pointiest breasts on any 1950s movie screen, and the other a teen-aged blond flirt.
Roland offers his son, Robert Horton, who is the sheriff, a deal. If Horton and the other men of the compound hand over the chest full of payroll money from Wells Fargo, he, Roland, will ride off hurriedly with it and the Apaches will follow him and not attack the fort. The Apaches will follow Roland because they will be able to recognize him at a distance. They should. He's in an obscene black Mexican outfit studded with silver studs and medallions, jacket, trousers, and boots alike, a kind of twisted Cisco Kid ensemble that can easily be recognized from a distance. It could probably be recognized from the moon.
Father and son have a slight disagreement over the ethical issues involved in the deal. Both are packing two guns. They have a stand off and finally draw. Horton manages to shoot the guns out of both of Roland's hands without drawing any blood. Not even a wince of pain.
But why go on? Robert Horton can't act and he looks like a cross between Dan Duryea and George Segal, and a heavy one to bear. Gilbert Roland is good at proud, smiling, sarcastic, self confidence but nobody bothered to rein him in and his snoot is constantly up in the air. "Aye, Chihuahua!", he exclaims at one point, and he is so right. The two babes are okay, but Barbara Ruick looks like she belongs in a Beach Blanket movie, mostly because of the way make up and wardrobe have groomed her. I believe I saw her perform in "Boyfriend" on a Los Angeles stage years later. Patricia Tiernan is the attractive and classy brunette whose bosom precedes her by a quarter of a mile.
Do yourself a favor and skip it unless you've prepared yourself chemically for the experience.
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