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

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

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.

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.

It was considered the most dangerous route in the Hills, but as my reputation as a rider and quick shot was well known, I was molested very little, for the toll gatherers looked on me as being a good fellow, and they knew that I never missed my mark.

While in El Paso, I met Mr. Clinton Burk, a native of Texas, who I married in August 1885.

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