Stories & Reflections
“Railroads, business people, tourists, will come. And we, real men, real women, will disappear”
Harmonica: I saw three of these dusters a short time ago, they were waiting for a train. Inside the dusters, there were three men.
Harmonica: Inside the men, there were three bullets.
Cheyenne: That’s a crazy story, Harmonica, for two reasons. One, nobody around these part’s got the guts to wear those dusters except Cheyenne’s men. Two, Cheyenne’s men don’t get killed
Cheyennne: You know, Jill, you remind me of my mother. She was the biggest whore in Alameda and the finest woman that ever lived. Whoever my father was, for an hour or for a month – he must have been a happy man.
Jill: If you want to, you can lay me over the table and amuse yourself. And even call in your men. Well. No woman ever died from that. When you’re finished, all I’ll need will be a tub of boiling water, and I’ll be exactly what I was before – with just another filthy memory.
Frank: Who are you?
Harmonica: Jim Cooper, Chuck Youngblood.
Frank: Dead men.
Harmonica: They were all alive until they met you, Frank. So, you found out you’re not a businessman after all.
Frank: Just a man.
Harmonica: An ancient race. Other Mortons will be along, and they’ll kill it off.
Frank: The future don’t matter to us. Nothing matters now – not the land, not the money, not the woman. I came here to see you. ‘Cause I know that now, you’ll tell me what you’re after.
Harmonica: …Only at the point of dyin’.