Our chiefs are killed. . . . The little children are freezing to death. . . . My people have no blankets, no food. . . . My heart is sick and sad. . . . I will fight no more forever.
Hear me, my chiefs! I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.
We are going by you without fighting if you will let us, but we are going by you anyhow!
From where the sun now stands I will fight no more.
When an Indian fights, he only shoots to kill.
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