Bret: He's got enough horses in his remuda to mount a regiment - forty or fifty men who treat him like king of the mountain.
A remuda is the herd of saddle horses which ranch hands choose their mounts for the day from.
Bret: There isn't any law out here except what a man can make and enforce for himself. It can't last long, but that's the way it is for now.
Cowhand: How many of them kings you sneak off the bottom of that deck?
Bret: You know, friend, a man can lose more than his money with talk like that.
Bret: I'm a great believer in peace and quiet. I think I'll go to bed before some of his Texas friends decide to pick up the argument.
Scanlon: I'll ask ya again - you buyin' in?
Bret: You'll know if I do.
Scanlon: Oh, how?
Bret: I'll never turn my back to ya.
Bret (about Buckner): He's a rabbit, but he brays like a Rocky Mountain canary, loud enough to bring down the roof.
Bret: Me? Scared of Wade, and fifty well-armed trail hands? Perish the thought.
Bret: Well, like the bear said to the trap … I'll stay because of my foot.
Bret: I'm a fence straddler, Wade, I don't side with anybody. I just like to be left alone.
Bret: When my brother and I left home, my Pappy said - "If either one of you comes back with a medal, I'll beat you to death."
Bret: You gonna stop 'em when they ride in? Well, don't feel too bad about it. Maybe your town isn't that important. Towns like this all die out sooner or later. They don't leave too many mourners. A few leaning headboards, to prove that men were here long enough to die, a few rotting walls left standing. I guess it really isn't worth dying for.
Bret (to Buckner): And if you get killed anyway, try not to mention my name.
Bret: A man's a fool to call a hand when he knows he's beat. That's one of the rules of my business.
Bret (to Buckner): A man who shouts brave and then runs when he gets answered - that man makes me sick.
Scanlon: See you're wearin' your gun.
Bret: Just in case I run across a snake.