We remained in Texas leading a quiet home life until 1889.

When I joined Custer I donned the uniform of a soldier. It was a bit awkward at first but I soon got to be perfectly at home in men's clothes.

The bigger a man's gun the smaller his doodlewick.

Left the ranch in 1883, went to California, going through the States and territories, reached Ogden the latter part of 1883, and San Francisco in 1884.

Those as don't eat, without exception, fail to survive.

I was in Deadwood at the time and on hearing of the killing made my way at once to the scene of the shooting and found that my friend had been killed by McCall.

I'm drunk. Correct. What the f*** is it to you?