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BUFFALO CHIPS, THE SCOUT,

WRITTEN FOR THE NEW YORK CLIPPER AND DEDICATED TO BUFFALO BILL.

IN THE MOUNTAINS, British Columbia,

March 8, 1879 }

The following verses on the life and death of poor old Buffalo Chips are founded entirely on facts. His death occurred on September 6, 1876, at Slim Buttes. He was within three feet of me when he fell, uttering the words credited to him in my poem.

Yours truly

CAPT. JACK CRAWFORD.

The evenin' sun was settin' sun droppin' slowly in the

west.

An' the soldiers tired and tuckered out in the

camp would find that rest

Which the settin' sun would bring 'em, for they

marched since break o' day--

Not a bite to eat 'cept horses as were killed upon the way;

For, ye see, our beans an' crackers an' our pork

[illegible] sight.

An' the boys expected rashuns when they struck

our camp that night;

For a little band had started for to bring some

cattle on,

An' they struck an Indian village, which they

captured jest at dawn.

Well, I war with that party when we captured

them ar Sioux,

An' we quickly sent a courier to tell old Crook the

news.

Old Crook! -- I should say gener'l, cos he war with

the boys--

Shared his only hard-tack. our sorrows and our

joys;

An' that's the kind o' soldier as the prairy likes

terget.

An' every man would trump death's ace fur Crook

or Miles, you bet.

But I'm kinder off the racket, cos these gen'rals
gets enough

O'praise without my chippin' so I'll let up on
that puff;

Fer I want ter tell a story 'bout a mate o' mine as
fell,