On the Trail of Geronimo — page 143: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ON THE TRAIL OF GERONIMO. 133 nights later, just as the sun was setting, the cavalry went into bivouac in one of the wildest ravines to the northward of the San Carlos Reservation. The brave men had ridden into the yawning chasm, where they were surrounded on every side by foot hills and mountains, deeply wooded with pine, scrub oak and juniper, the cottonwood grow- ing luxuriantly in the valley, where the weary soldiers unsaddled to give the animals the rest they needed as much as themselves. The grass was luxuriant, a stream of clear, icy cold water flowed near the camp, and the steeds and pack mules cropped the grass under the vigi- lant eyes of the herd guard, while several soldiers, as seen in the glow of the camp fire, were busy preparing the evening meal for the members of the command. There were laughter and quirp and jest, although the troopers were engaged on most serious business. At the moment the halt was made, Josh Joggens and Walter Windstrom had ridden up from an opposite direction. Their horses were coated with foam, for they had covered many a mile since sun up, and more than once the vengeful Apache bul- lets had whistled about the ears of their riders; (C(O) nn) Cc 6)(0)(6) (C(O) mM