“My great forte in killing buffaloes was to get them circling by riding my horse at the head of the herd and shooting their leaders. Thus the brutes behind were crowded to the left, so that they were soon going round and round.”

The Indians were well mounted and felt proud and elated because they had been made United States soldiers.

Major North and myself went out in advance of the command several miles and killed a number of buffaloes.

We had avoided discovery by the Sioux scouts, and we were confident of giving them a complete surprise.

The greatest of all the Sioux in my time, or in any time for that matter, was that wonderful old fighting man, Sitting Bull, whose life will some day be written by a historian who can really give him his due.

General Custer was a close observer and student of personal character.

Excitement was plentiful during my two years’ service as a Pony Express rider.

Having secured my Indian actors, I started for Baltimore, where I organized my combination, and which was the largest troupe I had yet had on the road.

My debut upon the world’s stage occurred on February 26th, 1845.

As a good horse is not very apt to jump over a bank, if left to guide himself, I let mine pick his own way.

I found Spotted Tail’s lodge. He invited me to enter.

Frontiersmen good and bad, gunmen as well as inspired prophets of the future, have been my camp companions. Thus, I know the country of which I am about to write as few men now living have known it.

Major North has had for years complete power over these Indians and can do more with them than any man living.

But the love of adventure was in father’s blood.

Don’t ever say you are sorry for “being caught in the moment”. Because, at that moment, that is EXACTLY where you wanted to be.

My restless, roaming spirit would not allow me to remain at home very long.

But the West of the old times, with its strong characters, its stern battles and its tremendous stretches of loneliness, can never be blotted from my mind.

History is a people’s memory, and without a memory, man is demoted to the lower animals.

A man of my spiritual intensity does not eat corpses.

We don’t let animals suffer, so why humans?

Of all the animals, man is the only one that is cruel. He is the only one that inflicts pain for the pleasure of doing it.

Humans are social animals. We seek belonging. We feel safer in a tribe than alone. But not all tribes are healthy.

Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to.

Man is the cruelest animal.

Experience demands that man is the only animal which devours his own kind, for I can apply no milder term to the general prey of the rich on the poor.