The Burrowers

John Clay:
Indians took 'em. God help 'em.

William Parcher:
[analyzing a corpse] She should've bled out more.

Henry Victor:
Looks like you've found yourself a hole in the ground there, Will.

Henry Victor:
[to Coffey] You wanna go face an Indian war party on your lonesome? Those blanketheads will peel you like an orange, boy.

Fergus Coffey:
[taking a photo from his jacket] That's Maryanne.

Walnut Callaghan:
She yours?

Fergus Coffey:
I was working on her.

Fergus Coffey:
He called you Walnut.

Walnut Callaghan:
Yeah, he did.

Fergus Coffey:
Is that your name?

Walnut Callaghan:
The name's Callaghan.

Fergus Coffey:
Callaghan. You Irish? [they both smile]

Fergus Coffey:
The name's Coffey.

Walnut Callaghan:
Coffey. You black? [they both smile]

John Clay:
Why do you spend so much time rubbin' that boy's belly? He already thinks you're Jesus Crockett.

William Parcher:
I'm courtin' his mother.

John Clay:
That's Gertrude Spacks' boy?

William Parcher:
Yeah, oh. Oh.

John Clay:
Skinny woman. Might as well just poke the boy.

William Parcher:
That's not a very godly sentiment, John.

Dobie Spacks:
[while observing an Indian with binoculars] He's seen us.

Henry Victor:
You think I didn't know that?

Dobie Spacks:
Why ain't he running?

Henry Victor:
Well, why don't we ask him?

[takes aim and shoots the Indian's horse, killing it]

Fergus Coffey:
I came close to joining the army after New York. Impossible to get work there. No one will hire the Irish on account of us being a bunch of thieves and beggars.

Walnut Callaghan:
Sounds familiar.

Dull Knife:
[speaking in Indian language] I'm glad they like white men, too.

Henry Victor:
What was that?

Ten Bear:
He says he likes white men.

Ten Bear:
[speaking in Indian language] Where do we find the Burrowers?

Dull Knife:
[speaking in Indian language] They'll find you. Even if you do taste like white man, now.

William Parcher:
Henry Victor would rather pull toes off the Sioux than follow the trail before us.

William Parcher:
Who takes men and horses and leaves the valuables to rot?

William Parcher:
Here, it's yours. [passes Coffey a crucifix he's just taken from a victim]

Fergus Coffey:
What do I do with it?

William Parcher:
Hellfire, I don't know. Find comfort in your Maker. It's your watch. [passes him his rifle]

John Clay:
[to Coffey] If you so much as touch that gun without my say-so, I will holster it in your ass.

John Clay:
You think that Sioux back there was Burrower tribe?

William Parcher:
There's more flavours of Soiux that I can count.

John Clay:
How come we never heard of them before?

William Parcher:
I can't say. But I expect they'll introduce themselves shortly. The Mick ain't made us the most popular white men in Dakota.

Walnut Callaghan:
We've got a fire.

William Parcher:
Careful, we don't know if these are friendlies.

Fergus Coffey:
Yeah, well, as long as they are human.

William Parcher:
[to Coffey] We find the Utes; they lead us to the Burrower tribe; we kill the Burrowers; you get your girl; you build a cabin on the prairie and you play American.

[last lines]

Henry Victor:
Well, I guess all we can do is make sure them Indians never do something like this again.

William Parcher:
What is that?

Henry Victor:
Hmm?

William Parcher:
What the hell is that?

Henry Victor:
It's a tobacco pouch.

William Parcher:
It's ugly as sh*t.

Henry Victor:
Yeah. Come off an Injun. Big buck by the name o' Sack-o-Tabacky.

William Parcher:
Jesus Christ.

Dobie Spacks:
W-What is it?

Henry Victor:
Sh*t, son.

William Parcher:
It's a scrotum, Dobie.

Dull Knife:
[Translation] You'll be awake in your grave. You'll be alive when they feed.

Faith:
[speaking in Indian language] They bury their food. Let it rot. The poisoned cannot sleep.

William Parcher:
They... they use some kind of poison. Bury their victims alive.

Faith:
[speaking in Indian language] When the blood is thick and the organs are soft, they return and eat. They drink.

[first lines]

Fergus Coffey:
[voice-over] It's about... Maryanne.

Walnut Callaghan:
They like my soft parts... Sh*t.