Excitement was plentiful during my two years' service as a Pony Express rider.
Quick as lightning Wild Bill pulled his revolver. The stranger fell dead, shot through the brain.
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.
Indians were frequently off their reservations.
Washington newspaper men know everything.
I had many enemies among the Sioux; I would be running considerable risk in meeting them.