I had a great aunt that was born in Denver in the early 1890s, and lived there her entire life. She had one regret in life: She was working in an ice cream parlor circa 1910, and Buffalo Bill frequently came in. On one occasion he asked if she would like to have her photograph taken with him. She declined, because as she put it "He was considered a ruffian, and it wouldn't have been proper for a young single woman to be seen alone in his company" - uttered with a sigh. Want a laugh? Look up the antics surrounding his death and burial. I'm still not sure if he's buried on top of Lookout Mountain west of Denver, in Wyoming or if parts of him reside in both places. Believe the story includes adding a few yards of concrete on top of his coffin to prevent more hijinx.