Yes, but in other places they, you know, actually have sex for money on occasion.
Indians generally come in three varieties: chiefs, princesses, and braves. Friendly Indians have one comical fat squaw who does all the cooking. Hostile Indians have one vindictive medicine man who hates whites more than anybody.
Indians always dance before going “on the warpath.” (They never go to war, or declare war, or just fight. They go on the warpath.) If anyone or anything interrupts the dance, the Indians are virtually helpless and easily manageable. If not, the next morning they will shoot arrows, one at a time, to pick off unimportant members of the white party before making an all out assault. For this, they will ditch the bow – you never actually see Indians with bows, though they all shoot as well as Robin Hood – for rifles. They will materialize out of thin air pouring over a hilltop in a screaming horde firing indiscrimately, because none of them can aim. If the Indians are engaged in a pitched battle and their chief is killed, all the braves will immediately drop everything and wander off. The chief’s princess daughter will be scooped by the white lead at her father’s funeral.
All Indians hunt buffalo. Much of their conversation revolves around how many days away the buffalo are, and how they’re disappearing. While scarce, buffalo are easy to catch with an unending supply of bullets. Buffalo is tastiest when boiled in a small iron cauldron over a large fire. The tribe has a single wooden spoon to eat the buffalo with. Corn farming is for sissies.
When you go into a saloon, the piano player will most likely be playing Camptown Ladies. When the dancin’ girls come onstage, they will most likely be dancin’ the Can-Can. By the way, have you noticed that while the piano player is often featured prominently, the band that plays the Can-Can always seems to be hidden from sight? And why does that music always seem to coincide with so many barroom riots breaking out?
Speaking of barroom riots, the reason for them invariably is that someone cheated at cards. Once someone discovers they’re being cheated, everyone in the entire room is morally bound to punch the guy nearest them. Except for the bartender, who must duck behind his bar, and the dancin’ girls, who must continue to dance as long as possible, no matter what kind of projectiles are headed their way.
Whenever the hero or heroine winds up in a river or falls in a water trough, they merely have to wait two minutes for their clothes and hair to dry. They will look just just as good after their dunking as before it. Unless the heroine is the excitable type who thinks she hates the hero but eventually realizes she loves him. Then she has to stomp around and yell at the hero and wait for the next scene before she looks like her old self again.
If you see a fistfight break out in the saloon, your proper response is to take a swing at the guy standing next to you.
Custom-tailored clothing is always available and affordable to any itinerant horseman.
Oops I got scooped just then on the brawl etiquette.
Then it is your duty to punch out the guy next to you!
When a beer bottle is forcefully applied to the head of your nearest neighbor in a barfight, it will shatter upon impact.
The creator of Deadwood has said that they use modern-day profanity on the show because actual 1870s profanity would sound either too mild or just strange to modern audience members.
Oh, and the only two drinks available in a saloon are whiskey and the occasional sarsparilla.
“Beer” bottles in the Old West, eh? Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.
I learned that the reason a good guy always wins a gunfight is because he never draws first. And he only shoots people in the hand.
Indians, sporting chaps that they are, hate the element of surprise: if they are to mount an attack, they will first line up on horseback on the crest of a ridge, silhouetted menacingly against the sky. On no account will they charge before declaring themselves by ululating loudly.
This will give the settlers a chance to circle the wagons, whereupon the Indians’ tactics will consist of riding around the wagons in a clockwise circle, firing occasionally from the back of a galloping horse {when not merely brandishing their rifles in the air} this will negate any advantage they have in numbers and firepower by allowing the stout pioneers to pick them off from cover.
The same tactics also apply to besieging a fort, except that the Indians will employ flaming arrows, and 19th Century stout timber fortifications were apparently kept permanently soaked in petrol: only one burning arrow will actually land, but this will be on the thatched roof of a small outbuilding, which will promptly explode into flames that will spread rapidly throughout the fort.
No one in the wild west owned a toothbrush.
Everyone in the wild west had sparkling white teeth.
And sometimes the Indian was Dick Miller in the afternoon, and sometimes the cowboy was Dick Miller in the morning!
(possibly apocryphal Roger Corman movie making experience relayed by Dick Miller) 
VCNJ~
Marrying a Cartwright was sure death.
Pregnant women never looked pregnant, and gave birth with no warning.
In their earlier days all major Western US cities had one street with raised wooden sidewalks, hitching posts, a livery stable, a saloon, a general store, a rival saloon or gambling hall, a hotel, a jail, a barber shop, a blacksmith shop, a church, a schoolhouse, a doctor’s office and maybe a law office. All on one street. This was true of Tombstone, Dallas, Denver, Dodge City, Abilene, Cheyenne, Tucson, Wichita, Tulsa, El Paso and any other town of note. The same planner worked every town and designed every town alike. Either that or Sears provided town plans in their catalog.
No one ever misses when shooting at the head of a rattlesnake, with a pistol, from the back of a skittish horse.
The only two types of wounds are flesh wounds and (near-instantly) fatal wounds. No one ever has a limb amputated from a gunshot wound or suffers a long, lingering death. However, a dying hero is allowed to suffer just long enough to make a heartfelt speech about his sweetheart or his brother.
A notable corollary to this is that no bad guy or gal can die until he or she his explained every dangling plot thread left to that point or revealed the location of whatever was hidden or stolen before. This may take quite some time, during which the wounded villain will be lucid and in near total control of speech, breathing, gesturing and other modes of communication. However, on completion of this deathbed narrative/confession/treasure map, the bad guy will politely slump off and close his or her eyes.
The notable exception to this is Elvis Presley in Love Me Tender who must have worn out several pairs of pants wiggling and squirming around in the process of dying. BTW, it’s true that Elvis (and Steven Seagal – with a nod to David Letterman) never won a Best Actor Oscar.
Two myths you’ll learn from watching westerns:
Cowboying was a major occupation, employing a substantial portion of the workforce. (In reality, there were very few cowboys. Most westerners were farmers.)
Most people in the west were white. (In reality, the old west had a substantial black and Spanish population.)
The hombres were always the bad guys.
The Gunsmoke tv show had Mexicans sometimes. Of course, they were always either terrorized villagers or “white slavers,” but still.