Cheyenne: Make believe it's nothing.
Cheyenne's Lieutenant: Cheyenne. We thought we'd never make it.
Cheyenne: It's all right. You're right on time... to bury my escort.
Morton: Not bad. Congratulations. Tell me, was it necessary that you kill all of them? I only told you to scare them.
Frank: People scare better when they're dyin'.
Cheyenne: You deserve better.
Jill: The last man who told me that... is buried out there.
Harmonica: You know, Wobbles... I'm kind of mad at you.
Jill: Hey, you're sort of a handsome man.
Cheyenne: But I'm not the right man. And neither is he.
Frank: How can you trust a man that wears both a belt and suspenders? Man can't even trust his own pants.
Frank: Keep your lovin' brother happy.
Cheyenne: By the way, you know anything about a man going around playing the harmonica? He's somebody you'd remember. Instead of talking, he plays. And when he better play, he talks.
Cheyenne: They wanna hang me, the big black crows. Idiots. What the hell? I'll kill anything, but never a kid. Be like killin' a priest. Catholic priest, that is.
Jill: I could swear we're going to have that strange sound.
Harmonica: Right now.
Frank: You've made a big mistake, Morton. When you're not on that train, you look like a turtle out of its shell. It's funny. Poor cripple talkin' big so nobody'll know how scared ya are.
Morton: I got on board within sight of the Atlantic, and before my eyes close I want to see the blue of the Pacific outside that window.
Frank: I know where you got on. I was there too remember? To remove small obstacles from the track you said. Well there were a few.
Cheyenne: Yeah, go on. Play, Harmonica. Play, so you can't bullshit.