According to Hal Needham, when he took the fall out of the tree onto the "catcher" camouflaged on the riverbank, one of his legs turned out and hit the outer framework of the catcher. His leg broke and he bounced on down into the river and had to be carried out. He stated that, during the course of his stunt career, he broke fifty-six bones, including his back--twice.
Paladin: Hey Girl, are you still on duty?
Hey Girl: Eternally, Master.
Paladin: Mr. Cutter, I didn't come here to collect your taxes, I came here to make you a proposition.
Cutter: Well, from here your bargaining position don't look too good.
Paladin: Oh? Well just how many head of cattle do you suppose the hide scroungers and the rustlers have got?
Cutter: Well, I don't know, it's hard to tell.
Paladin: Well, you could tell exactly if you'd help me collect the taxes. And I think you're just about the only man in this territory strong enough to do it.
Cutter: (about Turner) Well, it's cinch he didn't sprout wings and fly off, as cussed as he is.
Turner: Give it another sip there, Ham.
(Ham tastes the moonshine, wheezes and staggers against a tree.)
Ham: It's a mite greeny yet, Paw.
Turner: Know, you got some bad woman ways about you, Ham. (Takes a drink) Ahh. That there is as smooth as hickory bark.
Ham: Yessir, if you say so, Paw.
Turner: (Offers Paladin his jug) Hep yourself.
Cutter: Where's the boys?
Turner: Boys, uh, clean gone.
Cutter: All three of them?
Turner: Yeah. Yeah, we had us a fuss. I, uh, caught 'em cussin' on the Sabbath, that's what I caught 'em doing. Ain't a man to stand for that.
Turner: Well, don't just hold it, Mister, swish her down, it's sweeter than dew. (Paladin takes a swig from the jug) It's refreshing, ain't it?
Paladin: Bracing, I think is the word.
Turner: You know, it's just like Abraham with Absalom. Them going off and leaving me like a dried up old leaf to be scrunched underfoot. The ingratitude of 'em! And I took 'em and raised 'em Christian, too! "Sharper than a serpent's tooth". That's what the Good Book says.
Paladin: (still wheezing from the moonshine) Shakespeare.
Turner: You ain't gonna let him shoot me before I get a chance to pray out my contritenesses, are ya? I, I'd like me a minister. Might be there's one in town.
Paladin: No use, Cutter. The only way we're gonna get anything out of him is to sell his scalp to the Apaches. Course, they'd give him the Apache Death Rite.
Cutter: Where's the money and the tote sheet!
Turner: You go to blazes!
Paladin: Course, they'd bury him in pagan ground.
Turner: Pagan ground? Pagan ground? In the flour barrel. (Cutter begins pawing through the barrel) Go ahead and shoot him now he's got his back to ya! We'll split his whole herd between us.
Paladin: Why being buried in pagan ground should bother you at all is beyond me.