Pals of the Saddle

In the annals of B-Western history, Pals of the Saddle occupies a curious position: not quite good enough to be memorable, yet historically significant as John Wayne’s debut in Republic Pictures’ Three Mesquiteers series. It’s a film caught between two worlds: the dusty trails of traditional horse opera and the contemporary anxieties of a world sliding toward war.

The plot finds Wayne’s Stony Brooke framed for murder by a mysterious woman played by Doreen McKay, leading him to stage his own death and go undercover to expose a conspiracy involving poison gas shipments. It’s a decidedly modern concern wrapped in Western trappings. This strange alchemy doesn’t quite produce gold, but it offers something more interesting than the typical B-Western fare.

Wayne, less than a year away from his star-making turn in Stagecoach, steps into the role previously inhabited by Robert Livingston. Even in this modest programmer, there’s something magnetic about Wayne’s performance. He moves with that unmistakable swagger, ducking through doorways, and delivers his dialogue with his trademark laconic drawl. When he adopts the disguise of a crusty prospector (complete with unconvincing black beard stubble), we glimpse the playful side that would serve him well in later, better films. It’s a performance that elevates material that frankly doesn’t deserve it.

The other two Mesquiteers, who should be equal partners with Wayne on the adventure, are relegated to ineffectual comic relief and plot devices. Ray “Crash” Corrigan’s character is frustratingly incompetent (at one point he fails to consider shooting a lock despite having a loaded six-shooter on his hip), while Max Terhune’s ventriloquist gimmick (yes, he rides with a dummy) grows tiresome almost immediately.

Director George Sherman seems to recognize this imbalance, keeping Wayne front and center for extended stretches while the other Mesquiteers disappear entirely. This approach improves the film but highlights a fundamental problem with the franchise formula. One can’t help but wonder if a better movie might have abandoned the Three Mesquiteers concept altogether, allowing Wayne’s character to carry the narrative on his own.

Yet there are moments when Pals of the Saddle transcends its limitations. The final sequence, featuring an escape from a burning stage, delivers some genuine thrills, though the plot contrivance that puts Wayne in the position of needing rescue rather than doing the rescuing feels like another compromise to accommodate the trio format.

Still, the film’s willingness to grapple with contemporary political concerns (however clumsily) suggests ambitions beyond the typical range war narrative. The poison gas subplot, clearly inspired by the gathering storm in Europe, gives the proceedings a weight that straight horse-and-cattle rustling never could.

Pals of the Saddle is ultimately a film more interesting for what it represents than for what it achieves. It’s a stepping stone in Wayne’s journey toward stardom, a B-Western trying to find relevance in a changing world, and a franchise entry that inadvertently demonstrates the limitations of its own format. For Wayne completists and students of Western evolution, it’s essential viewing. For everyone else, it’s a mildly diverting way to spend an hour, elevated by a star-in-the-making doing his best with less-than-stellar material.