Behold, My Friends, The Spring Is Come;

Healthy Feet Can Feel The Very Heart Of Mother Earth.

I Know Great Spirit Is Looking Down Upon Me From Above, And Will Hear What I Say.

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

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.

I Do Not Wish To Be Shut Up In A Corral. All Agency Indians I Have Seen Are Worthless. They Are Neither Red Warriors Nor White Farmers. They Are Neither Wolf Nor Dog.