At the End of the Trail - A Story of the New Jersey Indians #261357

Up in the northern part of New Jersey there is a little valley in the heart of the mountains, and where now stands an old farm-house, smoke once curled upward from a group of wigwams, the home of a small tribe of Indians. In an English settlement in the valley of the Passaic there lived, at this time, a young Englishman named Allen, and probably no white man had more friends among the In dians than he. Tall, strong, well built, with a graceful swing to his shoulders as he walked, dressed in fringed buckskin, a deer skin cap on his curly head, he was good to look at. Besides, there was a happy reck lessness in his friendly manner, and a merry twinkle in the clear blue of his eye that never failed to please. From the time he could remember, love for the wilderness had pos sessed him, and he was never so happy as when he followed the trails and made friends among the Indians.