by Hans J. Wollstein
review
To stretch his acting prowess, presumably, Tim McCoy loved to masquerade as a Mexican, complete with fake mustache and accent. Unfortunately, McCoy was too much the Yankee American for the disguise to fool anyone but the most brainless of villains, who, as it happens, were a dime a dozen in B-Westerns. The deception, however, makes for tedious viewing and Code of the Cactus remains one of McCoy's less satisfying later efforts, directed in his usual careless manner by low-budget regular Sam Newfield.
