Old West Quotes

“The silence just allowed the echoes of the question to play out in Nox’s mind, reminding him of his own unwinnable war against the never-ending tide of conmen and criminals. He was trying to clean up these parts, but every time he rubbed away a stain, he found another layer of dirt beneath. So, you could give up—or you could keep on scrubbing.”
― Dean F. Wilson, Coilhunter

“It is the burden of the survivor to wake one day and discover in yourself a stranger.”
― John Larison, Whiskey When We're Dry

“Hell, I'll be safest pretending I'm a boy the rest of my life. The frontier ain't for the faint of heart, and it certainly ain't kind to women. Sometimes I think the whole world's 'gainst us.”
― Erin Bowman, Vengeance Road

“He had seen the end of an era, the sunset of the pioneer. He had come upon it when already its glory was nearly spent. So in the buffalo times a traveller used to come upon the embers of a hunter's fire on the prairie, after the hunter was up and gone; the coals would be trampled out, but the ground was warm, and the flattened grass where he had slept and where his pony had grazed, told the story.
This was the very end of the road-making West; the men who had put plains and mountains under the iron harness were old; some were poor, and even the successful ones were hunting for a rest and a brief reprieve from death. It was already gone, that age; nothing could ever bring it back. The taste and smell and song of it, the visions those men had seen in the air and followed, - these he had caught in a kind of afterglow in their own faces, - and this would always be his.”
― Willa Cather, A Lost Lady

“When I went into the business, I sat down and figured that I was indeed one of fortune's children. Just think. There were 20 million buffalo, each worth at least $3 -- $60 million. At the very outside, cartridges cost 25 cents each, so every time I fired one I got my investment back twelve times over. I could kill a hundred a day.... That would be $6,000 a month -- or three times what was paid, it seems to me, the President of the United States. Was I not lucky that I discovered this quick and easy way to fortune? I thought I was.”
― Frank Mayer, Gun Rites

“Dyin' ain't much of a livin”
― Outlaw Josie Wells

“They had very little grub and they usually run out of that and lived on straight beef; they had only three or four horses to the man, mostly with sore backs, because the old time saddle ate both ways, the horse's back and the cowboy's pistol pocket; they had no tents, no tarps, and damn few slickers. They never kicked, because those boys was raised under just the same conditions as there was on the trail―corn meal and bacon for grub, dirt floors in the houses, and no luxuries.

They used to brag they could go any place a cow could and stand anything a horse could. It was their life.

In person the cowboys were mostly medium-sized men, as a heavy man was hard on horses, quick and wiry, and as a rule very good natured; in fact it did not pay to be anything else. In character there like never was or will be again. They were intensely loyal to the outfit they were working for and would fight to the death for it. They would follow their wagon boss through hell and never complain. I have seen them ride into camp after two days and nights on herd, lay down on their saddle blankets in the rain, and sleep like dead men, then get up laughing and joking about some good time they had had in Ogallala or Dodge City. Living that kind of a life, they were bound to be wild and brave. In fact there was only two things the old-time cowpuncher was afraid of, a decent woman and being set afoot.”
― E.C "Teddy Blue" Abbott

“Ah!" said the doctor, in his most complacent manner, "here is the opportunity I have long been waiting for. I have often desired to test and taste the indian mode of cooking. What do you suppose this is?" holding up the dripping morsel.

Unable to obtain the desired information, the doctor, whose naturally good appetite had been sensibly sharpened by his recent exercise á la quadrupède, set to with a will and ate heartily of the mysterious contents of the kettle.

"What can this be?" again inquired the doctor. He was only satisfied on one point, that it was delicious - a dish fit for a king.

Just then Gurrier, the half-breed, entered the lodge. He could solve the mystery, having spent years among the Indians. To him the doctor appealed for information.

Fishing out a huge piece and attacking it with the voracity of a hungry wolf, he was not long in determining what the doctor had supped so heartily upon.

His first words settled the mystery: "Why this is dog."

I will not attempt to repeat the few but emphatic words uttered by the heartedly disgusted member of the medical fraternity as he rushed from the lodge.”
― George Armstrong Custer, My Life on the Plains: Or, Personal Experiences with Indians

“She looked at her right hand, where the index finger was cut to a stump. Some said she lost it in an accident, when she was playing soldier with a live grenade. Others said she was taught a lesson by the law, and they took her trigger finger to make her keep on learning. Those were the lessons the Coilhunter liked. Why, he was quite the teacher himself.”
― Dean F. Wilson, Coilhunter

“You hang your heroes. That way they’ll never disappoint you.' It also brought to mind his own retort: 'But what about your enemies? What about the
villains? What do we do with those?”
― Dean F. Wilson, Coilhunter

“The Coilhunter wasn’t much of a talker. He liked to keep things short and sweet, just like the lives of criminals. Well, the short bit anyway.”
― Dean F. Wilson, Coilhunter

“If you didn’t have your guns, you still had your mouth. Of course, you had to be careful how you fired that off.”
― Dean F. Wilson, Coilhunter

“He wondered if they knew fear, and thought that maybe if they didn’t, he could teach them it, like he’d taught manners to the foul-tongued and the red-handed.”
― Dean F. Wilson, Rustkiller

“If the Wild North were a living place, as the local tribes often claimed, then these were the embodiment of its dark subconscious. The spirits of men could haunt you, so why would the spirits of machines be any different?”
― Dean F. Wilson, Rustkiller

“We put him to the test that afternoon after the Kid woke up. I piled every weapon we had into the wagon and trucked the arsenal halfway across the San Simon Valley. One by one I fired off a round from each of the borrowed weapons and wrote down the order in which I had sent the reports. When I returned at midafternoon, we compared my notes to the Kid’s. Jack had not once failed to identify gun make and model, caliber, and brand of ammunition. He was even able to tell whether I had fired off a report with my right or left hand. Lord knows how he did that.
I, of course, had to see it for myself. We sent Pate off to the South Pass of the Dragoons and he commenced to fire off rounds at dusk. BAM! came the first report, aborning to us from the distant mountains and then quickly disintegrating into the maw of the desert sky.
“Remington forty-four,” Jack said. “Eighteen sixty-nine model.” He sat on a rock with his hands splayed over his stumpy knees and his head cocked for the next selection.
POW!
Jack pursed his lips. “Colt’s Lightning . . . forty-one caliber . . . iv’ry grips.”
BOOM!
At this report Jack chuckled. “Well, first off . . . forty-five caliber Peacemaker, seven-and-a-half-inch barrel,” he announced proudly. Then he smiled. “That ol’ dodger Pate . . . he’s a slick one, tryin’ to pull one on me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Along with the Colt he let go with a derringer, thirty-two caliber. Sounded like it ain’t been cleaned in a while.”
I sat down next to Jack and draped my arm over his rounded shoulders. “Jack, I believe you’ve given credence to the saying that every man on this earth serves a role.”
Jack gave me a look. “ ‘Serves a roll?’ Are we in the restaurant business again?”
― Mark Warren, The Westering Trail Travesties, Five Little Known Tales of the Old West That Probably Ought to A' Stayed That Way

“His seventeen murders aside, Bob was not such a bad guy. I know, because I rode with him and his boys for almost a year. Once, Bob had stayed up half the night to sing an old Apache healing chant to a horse that had bloated with the colic. It worked too. Next morning we found a half-digested tumbleweed in a pile of dung. It measured three feet across. That must have been one hell of a chant.”
― Mark Warren, The Westering Trail Travesties, Five Little Known Tales of the Old West That Probably Ought to A' Stayed That Way

“Ah! said the doctor, in his most complacent manner, "here is the opportunity I have long been waiting for. I have often desired to test and taste the indian mode of cooking. What do you suppose this is?" holding up the dripping morsel.

Unable to obtain the desired information, the doctor, whose naturally good appetite had been sensibly sharpened by his recent exercise á la quadrupède, set to with a will and ate heartily of the mysterious contents of the kettle.

"What can this be?" again inquired the doctor. He was only satisfied on one point, that it was delicious - a dish fit for a king.

Just then Gurrier, the half-breed, entered the lodge. He could solve the mystery, having spent years among the Indians. To him the doctor appealed for information.

Fishing out a huge piece and attacking it with the voracity of a hungry wolf, he was not long in determining what the doctor had supped so heartily upon.

His first words settled the mystery: "Why this is dog."

I will not attempt to repeat the few but emphatic words uttered by the headily disgusted member of the medical fraternity as he rushed from the lodge.”
― George Custer, My Life on the Plains (Illustrated & Annotated): Personal Experiences With Indians

“The level of civilization in Texas definitely wasn't very high if the old man was an example of it.”
― Larry McMurtry, Lonesome Dove

“A hot mean and bitchy desert with a naturally formed misanthropic mood seemed to be saying well Loop good buddy, how you want it dished up, scorpion bite, rattlesnake, order anything you see.”
― Ishmael Reed, Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down

“In our world, where a man had to prove himself every day, there was not much room for petty bigotries. A man was judged by his peers on the basis of his courage, his honor, and his abilities—and the color of his skin had little to do with those. The dogmas of the old states were rarely practiced in our world. In truth, the early westerners had much more in common with the Indians than many of them would have ever liked to admit. The Old West was full of colored men who left their mark. Beckwourth, Love, and Reeves were just a few of them, but there were more, many more. History may have chosen to forget, but those of us who lived it never will.”
― M.J. Hayes, Son of the Mountain

“Spanish is the lovin’ tongue,
Soft as music, light as spray.
’Twas a girl I learnt it from,
Livin’ down Sonora way.
I don’t look much like a lover,
Yet I say her love words over,
Often when I’m all alone—
“Mi amor, mi corazon.”

Nights when she knew where I’d ride,
She would listen for my spurs,
Throw the big door open wide,
Raise them laughin’ eyes of hers.
And my heart would nigh stop beatin'
When I heard her tender greeting,
Whispered soft for me alone—
“Mi amor! mi corazon!”

Moonlight in the patio,
Old señora noddin’ near,
Me and Juana talkin’ low
So the Madre couldn’t hear—
How those hours would go a-flyin’!
And too soon I’d hear her sighin’
In her little sorry tone—
“Adios, mi corazon!”

But one time I had to fly
For a foolish gamblin’ fight,
And we said a swift goodbye
In that black, unlucky night.
When I’d loosed her arms from clingin’
With her words the hoofs kep’ ringin’
As I galloped north alone—
“Adios, mi corazon!”

Never seen her since that night.
I kaint cross the Line, you know.
She was Mex and I was white;
Like as not, it’s better so.
Yet I’ve always sort of missed her
Since that last, wild night I kissed her,
Left her heart and lost my own—
“Adios, mi corazon!”
― Charles Badger Clark, Sun and Saddle Leather

“One of the earliest known settlements of free African Americans began in 1832 when 385 men, women, and children reached Mercer County, Ohio. These former Virginia slaves, freed in the will of politician John Randolph of Roanoke, traveled by wagon and boat. The will also provided them transportation and two to four thousand acres of fertile Ohio farmland.

When they arrived, the former slaves found they had been cheated out of their land by Randolph's relatives. White citizen of Piqua, Ohio held a meeting and voted to feed and provide work for the pioneers.”
― William Loren Katz, Black Women of the Old West

“Pioneer men and women of color faced legal color bars everywhere. Territorial and state legislatures passed "Black Laws" that denied them the right to vote, serve in the militia or on juries, hold public office, or testify in court. Some states made it a criminal offense for anyone to bring in or employ a black woman or man from another state.

To combat Black Laws, discriminatory customs, and white violence, people of color organized protest conventions and sent delegates to national black conventions.”
― William Loren Katz, Black Women of the Old West

“In 1860, the census reports for a dozen western states and territories showed the 50 percent school attendance for black women equaled that of white women. The 26 percent illiteracy rate for African-American women on the frontier was much lower than for white frontier women. Women of color in the wilderness consistently distinguished themselves through their dedication to self-improvement and zeal for education.”
― William Loren Katz, Black Women of the Old West

“Their boundless spirit and strength, and uncommon courage, did more than create charitable, literary, and religious societies. Among the way, the African-American women of the West challenged American bigotry and provided white citizens with vital and sometimes painful lessons in value of democracy, justice, and liberty for all.”
― William Loren Katz, Black Women of the Old West

“Death faces every man. What makes a man is how he faces death.”
― Aaron C Rhodes, American Cowboys