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.

Every Indian outbreak that I have ever known has resulted from broken promises and broken treaties by the government.

But the West of the old times, with its strong characters, its stern battles and its tremendous stretches of loneliness, can never be blotted from my mind.

I had many enemies among the Sioux; I would be running considerable risk in meeting them.

Washington newspaper men know everything.

My debut upon the world's stage occurred on February 26th, 1845.

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