HARRY: (Singing.) Home, home on the range, Where the bears and the antelope play, Where seldom is heard, A discouraging word, And ... 

LILY: (Entering.) Quiet Harry! What do you think you're doing?

HARRY: Nothin'.

LILY: What have I told you about whittling in the house?

HARRY: Don't do it?

LILY: Then stop whittling in the house. And while we're talking I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop singin' in the house. You sound like a coyote stuck in a bear trap!

HARRY: I'll have you know that where I come from folks think I got a real good voice.

LILY: Well they were wrong or they were deaf!

HARRY: Ma'am, I'm a cowboy and I can sing like a cowboy.

LILY: That ain't necessarily a good thing.

HARRY: Matter of fact, I'm a rip snortin', gun toten', bronc bustin', two-fisted man of the west, with the heart of a bear and the fangs of a wolf and ...

LILY: And you got the breath of a buffalo and the feet of a goose, but you can't sing worth a lick.

HARRY: (Meekly.) My Ma said I had a voice to charm the birds out of the trees.

LILY: She was you're Ma, but I gotta say it'd be kinder to the birds if you took 'em out of the tree with a shotgun.

HARRY: That was a little harsh.

LILY: Well, I'd best be getting back to the kitchen. I'll be having a passel of hungry cowboys at the table in short order.

HARRY: If they had short orders you wouldn't have to work so hard.

LILY: (Aside.) Well, he ain't very bright, but he ain't too quick either. (To Harry.) By the by, Harry, is that mangy foreman of ours back from the sheriff's office?

HARRY: Now why would Shame want to go and see the sheriff?

LILY: Because of the rustlers, that's why. You do remember the rustlers don't you?

HARRY: Rustlers! Have them mangy varmints been at the herd again?

LILY: Yes, they struck again last night. We're missing fifty head of cattle.

---

STEVE: Miss White, maybe you could introduce me to these fine folks.

BLOSSOM: Goodness me, where are my manners. I've forgotten to make the proper introductions. Mother, this is Mr. Steve Dashing. Mr. Dashing, this is my poor, old, widowed mother, Mrs. Lily White.

STEVE: Pleased to meet you, poor, old, widowed mother.

LILY: You can just call me Mrs. White.

STEVE: Call me Steve Ma'am. Most folks do.

LILY: (To Blossom.) Well, at least he's got the hand shake of a man that can be trusted.

SHAME: And I'm Shame Bushwacker.

STEVE: Good to know you, Shame ... maybe.

SHAME: Next time you say what you said ... you'd best be smiling.

STEVE: I think I might be saying what I mean to say when I mean to say it. And nobody tells me when I can or can't smile.

BLOSSOM: Mr. Dashing, did I happen to mention that Mr. Bushwacker is our ranch foreman?

STEVE: I don't reckon you did. (To Shame.) If I stepped on your boots I apologize. But I gotta warn you most things I need to say get said ... boots or no boots.

SHAME: I'll keep that in mind. (Aside.) It's clear this Dashing fellow is someone I'll have to draw down on someday. (To Steve.) For the time being maybe you might like to join the other hands for lunch?

STEVE: Thanks for askin', but as hot as it is I don't think I could eat more than a few bites of steak, some pork chops, fried chicken, baked chicken, ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, country fried taters, candied yams, peas, green beans and ice tea.

LILY: What about grits?

STEVE: I'm trying to cut back.