I figure if a girl wants to be a legend, she should go ahead and be one.

I left Montana in Spring of 1866, for Utah, arriving at Salt Lake city during the summer.

During the fall and winter we built Fort Meade and the town of Sturgis.

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.

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

We were ordered out to quell an uprising of the Indians, and were out for several days, had numerous skirmishes during which six of the soldiers were killed and several severely wounded.

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