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Henry Cluff:
Sheriff, I'm so thirsty I could drink my Saturday bath... if I had one.
Charlie Garth:
One drop would kill the whole posse.
Rayburn:
Why, you're just a little choosy how you kick the bucket, ain't ya? You're just a-figuring and a-worrying in that head of yours, thinking there will be a miracle... and you don't have to die at all. Well, I used to josh myself that way once, too. I sleep better now.
Sheriff Bill Cummings:
You look like a man who wants to cash his chips. Keep talking that way and somebody might accommodate you.
[The posse is surrounded by Apaches who communicate with smoke signals]
Charlie Garth:
They sure say a lot with a little smoke.
Charlie Garth:
Apaches don't do night work. It's against the rules of their God. They prefer the rosy dawn for murder.
Sheriff Bill Cummings:
Of course, Apache Jack's influence will be pretty ungodly.
Henry Cluff:
Well, Adam may have been a fool, but at least they had to throw him out of Paradise.
Chick Lyman:
Out here we don't pry into anybody's affairs. It just ain't healthy.
Bob Mulford:
Well, if my health isn't threatened by anything more dangerous than you, I won't worry much.
Rayburn:
You know, when I first came out west, I heard it was a pretty dangerous place. I figured if a man took chances, he wouldn't last very long. But the more chances I took, the safer I got.
Sheriff Bill Cummings:
You know, Rayburn, I always had an idea you were a man trying to commit suicide.
Bob Mulford:
Hey, Sweet, what are the Dragoons?
Billy Sweet:
For a veteran plainsman, you ain't very smart are you?
Bob Mulford:
Oh, I've never been very far west.
Billy Sweet:
Well, they're sort of a practicing ground for the hereafter. They're supposed to be mountains, but they're really the wrong place turned inside out.复制复制成功复制失败，请手动复制
