They want us to give up another chunk of our tribal land. This is not the first time or the last time.

I surrender this rifle to you through my young son, whom I now desire to teach in this manner that he has become a friend of the Americans. I wish him to learn the habits of the whites and to be educated as their sons are educated. I wish it to be remembered that I was the last man of my tribe to surrender my rifle. This boy has given it to you, and he now wants to know how he is going to make a living.

The meat of the buffalo tastes the same on both sides of the border.

If I agree to dispose of any part of our land to the white people I would feel guilty of taking food away from our children's mouths, and I do not wish to be that mean.

I do not wish to be shut up in a corral. All agency Indians I have seen are worthless. They are neither red warriors nor white farmers. They are neither wolf nor dog.

Now that we are poor, we are free. No white man controls our footsteps.

What white man can say I never stole his land or a penny of his money? Yet they say that I am a thief.