Transcriber's Note: A number of obvious printingerrors have been corrected. Dialect has been left as printed.
No. 2.
ONE PENNY.
Free Trapper’s
Pass.
JACKSON’S NOVELS
JAMES JACKSON.
2 Red Lion Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.
JACKSON’S NOVELS
FREE TRAPPERS’ PASS;
OR,
The Gold-seeker’s Daughter!
CHAPTER I.
THE RAID OF THE BLACKFEET.
On a tributary of the Yellowstone River, and near to the Bighorn Mountains,there stood, at the time our story opens, a cabin. Though roughly constructed,there was an air of nicety and comfort about it, which could hardly be expectedin a frontier log-house. On the outside, the walls presented a comparativelysmooth surface, though a glance would be sufficient to satisfy one that the workwas of the axe and not of the plane. On the inside, the walls seemed to beplastered with a material, which, in its primitive state, resembled stiff brownclay; and it was through a chimney of the same substance that the smoke of thefire within found vent.
A fair girl stood in the shadow of the rude doorway. Her hair, golden as thememory of childhood’s days, floated in soft ringlets over her exquisitely-formedshoulders, half concealing in its wavy flow her lovely cheeks, mantling with therich hue of life—cheeks which, long ago, might have been tinged with the sun’sbrown dye, but which now, miracle though it might seem, bore little trace of oldSol’s scorching hand, or tell-tale mark of western marches. Blue eyes she had,and a lovely light lingered in their liquid depths, while her form was one correspondingto her face, slender, but lithe and springing, well calculated to endure,along with a stout heart, the privations which must come upon one thus sostrangely out of place.
Half turning, she threw up one beautiful arm, and with her hand shaded hereyes from the glare of the sun, at the same time glancing to the right. As shedid so, she gave a slight start, for, in the distance, she had caught sight of anapproaching horseman. As cause for fear was, however, quickly removed, as shealmost immediately recognized him as a friend. Murmuring lightly to herself:
“Ah, John Howell! What can he be after?” She watched with some interesthis onward progress. Why was it that he so suddenly halted? Why did horseand rider remain mute and motionless, gazing in the direction of a mound whichlay not far distant from the cabin?
From behind its concealing shade, with a horrid yell, a band of Indian bravesat least fifty in number, in single file approached.
The majority of the band came directly toward the house, but the form ofHowell, stationed, sentinel like, upon the crest of a knoll, having been speedilyobserved, a squad of four well-mounted and well-armed braves dashed towardhim at full speed.
Half the intervening distance had been traversed before the trapper—for suchwas the white man—had fully determined whether their advance was friendly orhostile in its nature. When at length he caught fuller glances of their forms, itwas with remarkable celerity that he unslung his rifle and brought it to bearupon the nearest of the advancing foes, tersely exclaiming:
“Blackfeet, by mighty!”
At the touch of the finger upon the trigger the weapon was discharged, andhe