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.

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.