Trooper Tales — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

The Degeneration of Laddie. 49 “God help me if I don’t get there by reveille. They'll think I’ve deserted—and with my record, heavens!” * * * * XK * * * He stood in the murky blankness on the fifth river bank. It was so dark that he could not tell where the cliffs ended and the sky began; he could not see half way across the angry Manati. Ah, but he could hear its roar! Yes, and when he looked long he could see its foam. The tropical rain beat down. His strength was not so great as before, Laddie thought. The waters beat mightily against him. Every time he raised his foot he feared that he must fall. He passed the nucleus of the river’s force. His breath failed. He stepped on a rolling stone, sank, and fought the waters hands and feet. Chilled and bruised, he groped in the rain for the trail. He had made the fifth ford going back—oh, but he was weary. It seemed as if he found the way and he walked on—for ages. His feet were feverish and painful. He approached the river, the last one he feared. It looked ugly and unnatural. Laddie plunged in, struck a deep hole and was borne swiftly down stream. He had hit the Manati in a wrong place. And then began a cavalry recruit’s battle against faintness, fatigue, and a wicked current. The perpetual smile on Laddie’s tanned countenance vanished when he told of that battle. “T felt that my time to croak had come,” Laddie said. Two hundred yards below the point where he entered the stream, the young cavalryman clambered up on the EComichboo KS (CO)