Forty years ago, a cruel Indian chief named Geronimo was at the head of the Apaches in Southern Arizona. His desperate soldiers killed many a paleface, scalped many a miner howling with despair and fury, and rode away, across the prairie. At last a U. S. regiment fought Geronimo's men, and beat them. Most of the Indians were captured. Those who were not one afternoon rode their little ponies slowly across the border into Mexico, up the steep trails into the mountains, and fortified a camp.
One autumn night two years ago, a band...
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