Or man to devil, ’f you like that best.
But in them days, in the sure-enough West,
All stood as equals who stood the test.
They next at twenty steps blazed away,
An’ had they ben equal both had ben clay,
But Bill was best, an’ he win ther day.
It’s a good shot to hit a Injun’s heart,
For obvious reasons. Bill wa’n’t scart,
An’ found the center without a chart.
When they see Bill claim the tommyhawk
An’ feathers an’ beads wore by the gawk,
The other Injuns begin to squawk.
It all happened so dad-gasted quick,
The opposition must ’a’ felt sick;
But to my taste the duel was monstrous slick.
The other Injuns made for Bill,
But the soljers met ’em on the hill,
An’ convinced ’em they had best keep still.
When Yellow Hand, Senior, heared the news
He offered ponies ’f Bill’d let loose
Them trophies—but Bill he wa’n’t no goose.
With this remark I’ll close my letter:
“Thar’s nought a Injun can do—no matter
What—but a white man can do it better.”