The Life of Buffalo Bill quotes

I afterwards learned they had mistaken the herder, who had ridden home with me, for my father for whom they had been watching.

“My husband is not at home,” emphatically repeated my heroic mother⁠—for if there ever was a heroine she certainly was one⁠—“but the house is full of armed men,” continued she, “and I’ll give you just two minutes to get out of the yard; if you are not out by the end of that time I shall order them to fire on you.”

She withdrew from the window for a few moments and hurriedly instructed the herder to call aloud certain names—any that he might think of—just as if the house was full of men to whom he was giving orders.

The next morning we accidentally discovered that they had intended to blow up the house. Upon going into the cellar which had been left open on one side, we found two kegs of powder together with a fuse secreted there.

It only required a lighted match to have sent us into eternity.

My mother’s presence of mind, which had never yet deserted her in any trying situation, had saved our lives.

“I did,” replied I, rather proudly, as my confidence returned and I saw the men coming up.

“Yes, and little Billy has killed an Indian stone-dead⁠—too dead to skin,” said one of the men

, who had approached nearer than the rest, and had almost stumbled upon the corpse. From that time forward I became a hero and an Indian killer.

We were forced to kill our poor worn-out cattle for beef. They were actually so poor that we had to prop them up to shoot them down. At last we fell back on the mules, which were killed and served up in good style.

Many a poor, unsuspecting government mule passed in his chips that winter in order to keep the soldiers and bull-whackers from starvation.

It was really a serious state of affairs. The wood for the post was obtained from the mountains, but having no longer any cattle or mules to transport it, the men were obliged to haul it themselves.

So he sat up and struck a match to light his old pipe. Our subterranean bedchamber was thus illuminated for a moment or two; I sprang to my feet in an instant for a ghastly and horrifying sight was revealed to us.

Eight or ten human skeletons lay scattered upon the ground.

The light of the match died out, but we had seen enough to convince us that we were in a large grave, into which, perhaps, some unfortunate emigrants, who had been killed by the Indians, had been thrown;

Harrington thought it would take him twenty days or more to make the round trip; but being well provided for—for this length of time—I urged him to go at once. Bidding me goodbye he started on foot.

After his departure, each day, as it came and went, seemed to grow longer to me as I lay there helpless and alone.

I made a note of each day, so as to know the time when I might expect him back.

At last the twentieth day arrived—the day on which Harrington was to return—and I counted the hours from morning till night, but the day passed away with no signs of Harrington.

The wolves made the night hideous with their howls; they gathered around the dugout; ran over the roof; and pawed and scratched as if trying to get in.

Several days and nights thus wore away, the monotony all the time becoming greater, until at last it became almost unendurable. Some days I would go without any fire at all, and eat raw frozen meat and melt snow in my mouth for water.

They did not know whether to jump out or remain in the coach. Bob would occasionally look down from his seat, and, seeing their frightened faces, would ask,

“Well, how do you like staging in this country now?”

The Englishmen stuck to the coach, probably thinking it would be better to do so than to take the chances of breaking their necks by jumping.

… that some of the Missourians, who were with the excursion party, were bushwhackers themselves, and had telegraphed to their friends from some previous landing that I was on board, telling them to come to the landing which we had just left, and take me off.

Had the villains captured me they would have undoubtedly put an end to my career, and the public would never have had the pleasure of being bored by this autobiography.

I noticed that my wife felt grieved over the manner in which these people had treated me.

It was on a bright summer morning that we sat on a pine box in front of our crib, moodily viewing the demolition of the last building.

Three days before, we had considered ourselves millionaires; on that morning we looked around and saw that we were reduced to the ragged edge of poverty.

Our sanguine expectations of realizing immense fortunes were dashed to the ground, and we felt pretty blue. The new town of Hays had swallowed Rome entirely. Mr.

on that morning we looked around and saw that we were reduced to the ragged edge of poverty. Our sanguine expectations of realizing immense fortunes were dashed to the ground, and we felt pretty blue. The new town of Hays had swallowed Rome entirely.

Mr. Rose facetiously remarked that he felt like “the last rose of summer,” with all his lovely companions faded and gone, and he left blooming alone.

I told him I was still there, staunch and true, but he replied that that didn’t help the matter much. Thus ends the brief history of the “Rise, Decline and Fall” of Modern Rome.

I jumped to the ground, knowing that he would not leave me—it must be remembered that I had been riding him without bridle, reins or saddle—and turning round as the party of astonished officers rode up, I said to them:

“Now, gentlemen, allow me to present to you all the tongues and tenderloins you wish from these buffaloes.”

Captain Graham, for such I soon learned was his name, replied: “Well, I never saw the like before. Who under the sun are you, anyhow?”

It was at this time that the very appropriate name of “Buffalo Bill,” was conferred upon me by the road-hands.

It has stuck to me ever since, and I have never been ashamed of it.

During my engagement as hunter for the company—a period of less than eighteen mouths—I killed 4,280 buffaloes; and I had many exciting adventures with the Indians, as well as hair-breadth escapes, some of which are well worth relating.

When we got back to camp I found old Brigham grazing quietly and contentedly on the grass.

He looked up at me as if to ask if we had got away with any of those fellows who had chased us. I believe he read the answer in my eyes.

Another very exciting hunting adventure of mine which deserves a place in these reminiscences occurred near Saline River.

On this occasion I was mounted on a most excellent horse belonging to the railroad company, and could easily have made my escape; but of course I could not leave Scotty who was driving a pair of mules hitched to the wagon.

To think was to act, in those days

; and as Scotty and I had often talked over a plan of defense in case we were ever surprised by Indians, we instantly proceeded to carry it out.

The old wretch intimated that it was only “a freak of the boys”; that the young men had wanted to see if I was brave; in fact, they had only meant to test my bravery, and that the whole thing was a joke.

The veteran liar was now beating me at my own game of lying; but I was very glad of it, as it was in my favor.

I did not let him suspect that I doubted his veracity, but I remarked that it was a rough way to treat friends. He immediately ordered his young men to give me back my arms, and scolded them for what they had done.

He came up, rather angrily, and demanded an explanation. “I can’t allow any such business as this, Cody,” said he, “what do you mean by it?”

“I didn’t care about asking for any wagons this time, Colonel; so I thought I would make the buffaloes furnish their own transportation,” was my reply.

The Colonel saw the point in a moment, and had no more to say on the subject.

We were all brought up standing by the sudden stoppage of the ambulance. Major Brown and myself were nearly pitched out on the wheels, while the Lieutenant came flying headlong from the back seat to the front of the vehicle.

“Take a back seat, Lieutenant,” coolly said Major Brown.

“Major, I have just left that seat,” said Bache.

He at once ordered the command to dismount and lead the horses down the mountainside. The wagon train was a mile in the rear, and when it came up, one of the drivers asked: “How are we going down there?”

“Run down, slide down or fall down⁠—any way to get down,” said I.

“We never can do it; it’s too steep; the wagons will run over the mules,” said another wagon master.

“Milligan, here’s what you’ve been wanting for some time,” said I, “for yonder is a war party of Indians and no mistake; and they’ll come for us, you bet.”

“I don’t believe this is one of my fighting days,” replied Milligan, “and it occurs to me that I have urgent business at the camp.”

Our camp was five or six miles distant on the Dismal River, and our escort consisted of a company of cavalry commanded by Captain Russell.

Knowing that we could reach the camp in safety, for we were well mounted, I continued to have considerable amusement at Milligan’s expense, who finally said:

“Cody, what’s making my hat raise up so. I can hardly keep it on my head.”

Sample, who was as cool as a cucumber, said to Milligan: “There must be something wrong with your hair. It must be trying to get on end.”

“Cody, what’s making my hat raise up so. I can hardly keep it on my head.”

Sample, who was as cool as a cucumber, said to Milligan: “There must be something wrong with your hair. It must be trying to get on end.”

“It’s all very fine for you fellows to stand here and talk,” replied Milligan, “but I am not doing justice to my family by remaining.

He was not much of a rider, and he went bouncing up and down, with his swallowtails flopping in the air.

The sight I shall never forget, for it was enough to make a “horse laugh,” and I actually believe old Buckskin Joe did laugh.

However, we had a splendid hunt, and on the second day I lariated, or roped, a big buffalo bull and tied him to a tree—a feat which I had often performed, and which the gentlemen requested me to do on this occasion for their benefit, …

“How long will it take you to commit your part to memory, Bill?” asked Jack.

“About six months, as near as I can calculate. How long will it take you?” answered I.

“It will take me about that length of time to learn the first line,” said Jack. Nevertheless we went to our room and commenced studying. I thought it was the hardest work I had ever done.

“About six months, as near as I can calculate. How long will it take you?” answered I.

“It will take me about that length of time to learn the first line,” said Jack.

Nevertheless we went to our room and commenced studying. I thought it was the hardest work I had ever done.

“Tut! tut! you’re not saying it right. You must stop at the cue.”

“Cue! What the mischief do you mean by the cue? I never saw any cue except in a billiard room,” said I.

Buntline thereupon explained it to me, as well as to Jack, who was ignorant as myself concerning the “cue” business.

“See here, boys; it won’t do to go back on me at this stage of the game. Stick to it, and it may be the turning point in your lives and lead you on to fortune and to fame.”

“A fortune is what we are after, and we’ll at least give the wheel a turn or two and see what luck we have,” said I.

This satisfied Buntline, but we didn’t study any more after he left us. The next morning we appeared at rehearsal and were introduced to the company. The first rehearsal was hardly a success; and the succeeding ones were not much better.

The Chicago Times said that if Buntline had actually spent four hours in writing that play, it was difficult for anyone to see what he had been doing all the time.

Buntline, as “Cale Durg,” was killed in the second act, after a long temperance speech; and the Inter-Ocean said that it was to be regretted that he had not been killed in the first act.

The company, however, was very good, and Mdlle. Morlacchi, as “Pale Dove,” particularly fine;

All this was done in a minute or two, and by the time I got downstairs, Bill was coming out of the barroom, whistling a lively tune.

“Well!” said he, “I have been interviewing that party who wanted to clean us out.”

“I thought you promised to come into the Opera House by the private entrance?”

At first he didn’t play very well, intentionally making many blunders and asking numerous questions; but when morning came, he was about seven hundred dollars ahead.

Bill put the money in his pocket, and just as he was leaving the room he advised them never to wake a man up and invite him to play poker.

Wild Bill remained with me until we reached Rochester.

When I had finished the scene, and had retired from the stage, the stage-carpenter came up and said:

“That long-haired gentleman, who passed out a few minutes ago, requested me to tell you that you could go to thunder with your old show.”

That was the last time that Wild Bill and I ever performed together on the stage. After the evening’s entertainment I met him at the Osborn House. By this time he had recovered from his mad fit and was in as good humor as ever.

“How many of you are there now?”

“Then I advise you to go out and get some more reinforcements,” said Bill, very coolly.

The policemen thereupon spoke to the sheriff, who was dressed in citizen’s clothes. The sheriff came up and said he would have to take him into custody.

The policemen thereupon spoke to the sheriff, who was dressed in citizen’s clothes. The sheriff came up and said he would have to take him into custody.

“All right, sir,” replied Bill, “I have no objections to walking out with you, but I won’t go with any two policemen.”

At the court next morning Bill stated his reasons for having acted as he had done, and the judge fined him only three dollars and costs.

The order came none too soon, for had it been given one minute later I would have had not less than two hundred Indians upon me.

As the soldiers came up I swung the Indian chieftain’s topknot and bonnet in the air, and shouted: “The first scalp for Custer.”

General Merritt, seeing that he could not now ambush the Indians, ordered the whole regiment to charge upon them.

and only when alone with him did I dare to have him take the treasure from his saddle-pockets.

In this connection I may remark that Jack Crawford is the only man I have ever known that could have brought that bottle of whiskey through without accident befalling it, for he is one of the very few teetotal scouts I ever met.

Not wishing to have a game of “whiskey solitaire,” I invited General Carr to sample the bottle with me.