Her hair was black as 10 feet down.
Did you ever see a crow's wing,
how black and gleaming it is?

- Yes.
- That's the way her hair shined.

I'd like to pay you for that rope.
Riding dispatch,
I have the right to give U.S. script.

- You loved her?
- I don't know.

I needed her.
- But if she was dark and I'm fair...
- Why you reminded me of her?

- Yes.
- I don't know.

I thought about it.
You don't look anything like her.

I am fully aware
that I am a homely woman, Mr. Lane.

I didn't mean that.
I have a bad habit of telling the truth.
But being pretty isn't much.

I know a lot of pretty people
I wouldn't trust...

with a busted nickel-plated watch.
But some others, something comes out of
the inside of them and...

you know you can trust them.
Destarte had that.
And you've got it, too.
- I'm a married woman.
- I thought about that, too.

I guess I kissed you
because you remind me of Destarte.

Or maybe it was because
I hate to think of your hair...

hanging from the center pole
of an Apache wickiup.

Well, a long time ago I made me a rule.
I let people do what they want to do.
You are a strange man, Mr. Lane.
I don't know about that.
Goodbye, Mrs. Lowe.