Transcriber’s Note: Obvious printer’s errors have been corrected. These books were produced on the cheap, and it showed. No. 3. ONE PENNY. TOM TERROR, THE OUTLAW. [Illustration] JACKSON’S NOVELS JAMES JACKSON. 2 Red Lion Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C. TOM TERROR CHAPTER I. Tom Terror, as he was fitly named, had already made a name which will never be erased from the annals of danger and death that a thousand pens have traced in crimson ink. He had ridden from Custer City, five months prior to the date of our story, with a rope about his neck, and in the midst of a score of the most determined men that ever hung an outlaw. But the bird in the hand on that occasion did not prove worth two in the bush. The Vigilantes of Custer had made one mistake. Tom Terror had been permitted to ride his own horse to the spot chosen for his exit. A word to his horse had been sufficient. A wild snort, a leap forward like a startled stag, a dozen pistol-shots, a lot of charging men, told the story of how the bird in the hand got back to the bush. And now Tom Terror had returned to the canyon through which he had galloped with a rope around his neck. An Indian, keen-eyed and acute, might have passed him and never have seen man or horse. “I war right. The boys are on the old stampin’-ground!” he ejaculated. Presently the outlines of six or seven mounted figures came in sight. Tom seemed to experience the pleasure that fills the heart of an exiled chief when he finds himself once more with his men. The Indians were lightly attired. Not one of the party possessed a gun, but each of them carried a weapon of death more horrible than the singing bullet. They came on until they were almost directly in front of the watcher. Their faces were plainly visible in the moonlight. As Tom Terror looked he counted them. “Is it possible that they’ve been reduced to six? By the jumpin’ jingo! somebody’s been here since I’ve been gone! What would they say war I to step out an’ say--‘Wal, boys, I’m back?’ Gosh all varmints! how they’d jump! And mebbe I’d get the string before they’d recognised their old cap’n!” At that moment the Indians started, and looked into each other’s faces. Tom looked toward the north. “I hear it, too,” he said. “By Jove! the boys ar’ gittin’ the strings ready.” The Indians had drawn a dark cord from their breasts. As it swung loose a little ball dangled from one end. Down the canyon came the galloping of two horses. When the game was in sight, Tom Terror shrunk instinctively against the wall of the canyon, and uttered a cry which he tried very hard to suppress. Instead of two men, he saw a brace of youthful figures.