When an Indian fights, he only shoots to kill.

We had good white friends who advised us against taking the war path. My friend and brother, Mr. Chapman, told us just how the war would end.

I have asked some of the great white chiefs where they get their authority to say to the Indian that he shall stay in one place, while he sees white men going where they please. They cannot tell me.

I pressed my father's hand and told him I would protect his grave with my life. My father smiled and passed away to the spirit land.

When I think of our condition, my heart is heavy. I see men of my own race treated as outlaws and driven from country to country, or shot down like animals.

All men were made by the Great Spirit Chief. They are all brothers.

I have heard talk and talk, but nothing is done.