This Nation Is Like A

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

I Have Killed, Robbed, And Injured Too Many White Men To Believe In A Good Peace.

Is It Wrong For Me To Love My Own? Is It Wicked For Me Because My Skin Is Red? Because I Am Sioux? Because I Was Born Where My Father Lived? Because I Would Die For My People And My Country?

As Individual Fingers We Can Easily Be Broken, But All Together We Make A Mighty Fist.

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.