The daily Alaskan., 1917-01-25
BILL CODY HAD
 GREAT CAREER
(By David w. Hazen)

Hero ID pOLl IdCI dup +''uCSJ " cupying d chamber in the round tower of every American boys heart more admired than Santa Claus, this old rider of the plains has gone to the green valley of which he sang sd many times.
 l His body should rest in some wild wind-swept spCt on the trau- scared prairie, for there his soul would find the peace it never found in cities and palaces. A simple-minded, fearless Westerner, he stood in the presence of princes and looked them squarely ill the eyes-for in his country every man is king And in spite of the fact that he often sang the cowboys ia Yorite chorus
 o bury me not on the lone prairi-ee Were the wild coyotes will howl
 OCT me,
 In a narrow grave just six by three' l o bury me not on the lone
 prairi-ee--- his last resting place should be under the wide and starry sky" far from the homes and haunts of men. Only there will the soul or the plainsman find rest.
 Just as matter-Of-fact as he used to start out with the express aross an Indian-infested country, he awaited the coming of his last re- lief. He smiled when death was mentioned just as he smiled when some nervous tenderfoot warned him to look out for Toad-agents. For Bill Cody disremembered being afraid, as did the other boys who rode "way up on the Kansas line" Denver is a beautiful city, and II his last earthly view had to be of smoking chimneys and great piles Of brick and mortar, it could be Denver as well as any other town. | But we know Colonel Cody would a great deal rather have been cut where the range was wide an1 the "dogies" were hurrying to find shelter from the blizzard. For | in days of Joe Bowers and Dan Fay Tor (cowboy heroes), he sang as loud as any of them
 l started up the trail Octoper
 twenty-third,
 I started up the trail with the 2-U
 herd,
 Oh, a ten-dollar hoss and forty
 dollar saddle
 Ant I'm goin' to punchin' Texas
 cattle.
 They sang this song as they rode, but when the night was dark and the winds foretold coming storms, the riders would gather around 6 camp fire and sing mourn ful ballads- death seemed to be a Imore popular theme than love. As the scout lay counting the hours, he no doubt thought of the ancient streets of Laredo, so famed in the old song of his 'pards"; the chor- us is still sung by the schoolboys of Dodge City and Laramie;
 Oh, heat the drum slowly and play
 tie fife slowly,
 Play the Dead March as you car
 ry me along;
 Take me to the green valley there
 lay the sod OCT me,
 Fer I'm a young cowboy and l
 know I've done wrong.
 Plainsmen did not think much abou. the fine points of right and wrong. They lived their life as they found it. Quick to resent an insult, just as ready to give up life as to take it, their philosophy is best expressed by the epitaph they placed on the beadboard over the grave of a young cowboy HE DONE HIS DANDEST
 And so William Frederick Cody, a native son of Iowa and an adopted son of Kansas, lived his days. Kind to all whom he thought worthy, generous to a fault, brave and true to his trust, he carved his initials in the Western hall of fame with six-shooter and a pair of silver spurs.
 If there was any one thing in the world that made Buffalo Bill more angry than anything else 1t was for one to say something about a survivor of the Custer massacre. Every once in a while such an i'm poster is found. During his last visit to Portland Cody told the writ CT of an experience he had in San Diego not long before.
 stIIyLz T ooE +brouGb 1Uiht him