BUFFALO BILL

My great forte in killing buffaloes was to get them circling by riding my horse at the head of the herd and shooting their leaders. Thus the brutes behind were crowded to the left, so that they were soon going round and round.

I began to think my time had come, as the saying is.

Springfield has always had a place in my heart.

The greatest of all the Sioux in my time, or in any time for that matter, was that wonderful old fighting man, Sitting Bull, whose life will some day be written by a historian who can really give him his due.

I thought I was benefiting the Indians as well as the government, by taking them all over the United States, and giving them a correct idea of the customs, life, etc., of the pale faces, so that when they returned to their people they could make known all they had seen.

The Confederates had suspected Wild Bill of being a spy for two or three days, and had watched him closely.

Some days I would go without any fire at all, and eat raw frozen meat and melt snow in my mouth for water.

Having secured my Indian actors, I started for Baltimore, where I organized my combination, and which was the largest troupe I had yet had on the road.

I had the best buffalo horse that ever made a track.

Wild Bill was anything but a quarrelsome man yet I have personal knowledge of at least half a dozen men whom he had at various times killed.

On reaching the place where the Indians had surprised us, we found the bodies of the three men whom they had killed and scalped, and literally cut into pieces.

My first plan of escape having failed, I now determined upon another.

Nothing of course was ever done to Bill for the killing of Tutt.

It was my effort, in depicting the West, to depict it as it was.

The first trip of the Pony Express was made in ten days - an average of two hundred miles a day. But we soon began stretching our riders and making better time.

General Custer was a close observer and student of personal character.

I was persuaded now that I was destined to lead a life on the Plains.

But the love of adventure was in father's blood.

Indians were frequently off their reservations.

Major North has had for years complete power over these Indians and can do more with them than any man living.

My wife was delighted with the home I had given her amid the prairies of the far west.

Major North and myself went out in advance of the command several miles and killed a number of buffaloes.

After crossing the Smoky Hill River, I felt comparatively safe as this was the last stream I had to cross.

So for twelve miles I rode with Sherman, and we became fast friends. He asked me all manner of questions on the way, and I found that he knew my father well, and remembered his tragic death in Salt Creek Valley.

As a good horse is not very apt to jump over a bank, if left to guide himself, I let mine pick his own way.