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.
From where the sun now stands I will fight no more.
We are going by you without fighting if you will let us, but we are going by you anyhow!
When an Indian fights, he only shoots to kill.
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