Dedication || 1: The Old Homestead in Iowa
In presenting this volume to the public the writer has a twofold purpose.
For a number of years there has been an increasing demand for an authentic
biography of "Buffalo Bill," and in response, many books of varying
value have been submitted; yet no one of them has borne the hall-mark of
veracious history. Naturally, there were incidents in Colonel Cody's life—
more especially in the earlier years—that could be given only by those with
whom he had grown up from childhood. For many incidents of his later life
I am indebted to his own and others' accounts. I desire to acknowledge
obligation to General P. H. Sheridan, Colonel Inman, Colonel Ingraham, and my
brother for valuable assistance furnished by Sheridan's Memoirs, "The Santa
Fe Trail," "The Great Salt Lake Trail," "Buffalo Bill's Autobiography,"
and "Stories from the Life of Buffalo Bill."
A second reason that prompted the writing of my brother's
life-story is purely personal. The sobriquet of "Buffalo Bill"
has conveyed to many people an impression of his personality
that is far removed from the facts. They have pictured in fancy
a rough frontier character, without tenderness and true nobility.
But in very truth has the poet sung:
"The bravest are the tenderest—
The loving are the daring."
The public knows my brother as boy Indian-slayer, a
champion buffalo-hunter, a brave soldier, a daring scout,
an intrepid frontiersman, and a famous exhibitor.
It is only fair to him that a glimpse be given of the parts
he played behind the scenes—devotion to a widowed mother,
that pushed the boy so early upon a stage of ceaseless action,
continued care and tenderness displayed in later years,
and the generous thoughtfulness of manhood's prime.
Thus a part of my pleasant task has been to enable the public to see my
brother through his sister's eyes—eyes that have seen truly if kindly.
If I have been tempted into praise where simple narrative might
to the reader seem all that was required, if I have seemed to
exaggerate in any of my history's details, I may say that I am not
conscious of having set down more than "a plain, unvarnished tale."
Embarrassed with riches of fact, I have had no thought of fiction.
H. C. W.
CODYVIEW, DULUTH, MINNESOTA, February 26, 1899.