Go Back Home Where You Came From.

I Wish It To Be Remembered That I Was The Last Man Of My Tribe To Surrender My Rifle.

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.

A Cold Wind Blew On The Prairie On The Day The Last Buffalo Fell. A Death Wind For My People.

The Meat Of The Buffalo Tastes The Same On Both Sides Of The Border.

Every Seed Is Awakened, And All Animal Life.