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THE WEEKLY DISPATCH
JULY 24, 1887

The Buffalo Bill people have been popping in at intervals during the week. On Sunday, as mentioned, two waggonette loads of them were driven over, and gawked and gaped about the place after the manner of the cowboy kind. On Tuesday we had a visit from Miss Lillian Smith, the shootist, accompanied by sundry of her satellites, including a small Indian boy, most resplendently arrayed in a blue silk shirt, and a pair of red silk trousers-a costume utterly upsetting all our notions of the noble redskin as borrowed from Fenimore Cooper. Miss Smith herself presented a striking combination of native eccentricity and feminine slavishness to the dictates of fashion in her garb. One of the orthodox white summer dresses, cut rather short, but duly furnished with an improver, was incongruously accompanied by a yellow silk Mexican sash and plug hat. She was at once pounced upon by the Ever Welcome, wo insisted on prancing her round the show, introducing her to everyone and everything, and finally presented her with about tow yards of telegraphic tape, either as a souvenir of the occasion or as a gage d'amour. The lady went down to the running deer range, and tried her hand on that animal without much success. Her first shots were misses, and she followed this up by two hits on the haunch. I do not know who paid the fine this feat involves, but she did not part herself. She pleaded, however, that she was shooting with a strange rifle, and one heavier than she was accustomed to. On Wednesday morning Red Shirt, Little Bear, and sundry other noble red men rode into camp, prowled about the place, squatted for a brief interval in the Cottage enclosure, where they partook of lemonade and cigarettes, and submitted to the infliction of photography, and then took their departure.

THE WEEKLY DISPATCH
JULY 24, 1887

The Buffalo Bill people have been popping in at intervals during the week. On Sunday, as mentioned, two waggonette loads of them were driven over, and gawked and gaped about the place after the manner of the cowboy kind. On Tuesday we had a visit from Miss Lillian Smith, the shootist, accompanied by sundry of her satellites, including a small Indian boy, most resplendently arrayed in a blue silk shirt, and a pair of red silk trousers-a costume utterly upsetting all our notions of the noble redskin as borrowed from Fenimore Cooper. Miss Smith herself presented a striking combination of native eccentricity and feminine slavishness to the dictates of fashion in her garb. One of the orthodox white summer dresses, cut rather short, but duly furnished with an improver, was incongruously accompanied by a yellow silk Mexican sash and plug hat. She was at once pounced upon by the Ever Welcome, wo insisted on prancing her round the show, introducing her to everyone and everything, and finally presented her with about tow yards of telegraphic tape, either as a souvenir of the occasion or as a gage d'amour. The lady went down to the running deer range, and tried her hand on that animal without much success. Her first shots were misses, and she followed this up by two hits on the haunch. I do not know who paid the fine this feat involves, but she did not part herself. She pleaded, however, that she was shooting with a strange rifle, and one heavier than she was accustomed to. On Wednesday morning Red Shirt, Little Bear, and sundry other noble red men rode into camp, prowled about the place, squatted for a brief interval in the Cottage enclosure, where they partook of lemonade and cigarettes, and submitted to the infliction of photography, and [?] [?] [their?] [departure?].