The Comancheros by Paul I. Wellman

 

The Casa Blanca, alone of all the houses in the Paso Duro, boasted glazed windows. In this she found an illogical comfort: illogical because she knew it was unwarranted. Glass is easily shattered—really no protection at all—but all women come to think of glass as a barrier and a safeguard, because in a civilized world glass is respected as such.

It was, Eloise considered, like the law. One comes to depend on the law with the same illogic that one depends on window glass, for the law is as flimsy as glass, and as easily shattered.

Wellman, an author I am fond of, offers this sweeping tale of good, evil, and valor that ranges from New Orleans through the harsh terrain of Texas while encountering the bandit tradesmen of the title.

It is a big bold tale, but I must admit it was a bit too squared off, too calculated to bring me further than a surface enjoyment. It reads as a comfortable 1950’s Western film that hits all the beats but possesses no surprises.

Likely the fault of this reader and not an author whom I usually find in fine form.