I have lots of fellows.

I could marry lots of other white mans, but I will marry you." "Like hell you will!" snorted Casey, and began to wipe out his frying pan and empty his coffeepot and make other preparations for instant packing.
"Like hell you'll marry me! Think I'd marry a squaw-- ?" "Then I will not tell you where is the gold! Then I hate you and I will fix you good! You want that gold mine awful bad.

You will have to marry me before I tell you." Casey straightened and looked at her, his frying pan in one hand, his coffeepot in the other.

"Say, I never asked you about the darn mine, did I?
I done my talkin' to Injun Jim.

It's you that butted in here on this deal.