The William F. Cody Archive: Documenting the life and times of Buffalo Bill

On the whole I prefer Lo the poor Indian. His aspirations may not extend nowadays beyond a comfortable squat in the wigwam of the great Cody, a square meal, and a peg of fire-water, but he is man right out, from his spinal column to his dirty cuticle. I saw the braves from Bellgrove at a complimentary dinner one day last week, and to be hold the abandon with which they threw themselves into the business of stuffing themselves, was a treat almost as great as the "Wild West" itself. They were not very brilliant afterdinner orators. Indeed they don't wan't to orate after dinner at all, which shows that the child of nature is built on common-sense principles. Their taciturnity was only equalled by their keen desire for something short to drink. They couldn't get it however, for fire-water risks cannot be rum by Colonel Cody. Mr. Galloway, however, gave a bottle of ketchup a piece to the braves when the feast was over, with a magnum of the same to the chiefs, and the carefulness with which they concealed these about their respective persons, convinced me, that they thought they were the recipients of alcoholic samples. If Mr. Galloway gets scalped between now and Xmas we may safely credit it to irate Indians as their revenge for being swindled.