The Topeka state journal., 1897-10-11
A FIGHT FOR A WIFE.

One day I walked about our camp, in
terested in contact and intercourse with
these semisavages, whose wild ways and
legends had always been an attractive
study when my eyes fell upon the face of
a young girl of their band 1t was most
wonderfully beautiful and fascinating.
The girl held herself strangely a1oof
from the rest of her people.
One day L happened to be near one of
the mess fires when the men were cooking
supper, and one of them used some coarse
ribaldry in his reference to Marata, for
such was her name.
Quick as q flash one of his companions,
Edward Robson, a young giant of plains
man, sprang at him with the ferocity of a
tiger, and theneeforward the careless jest
er carried a gap in his teeth as a mementO
of his rashness.
One day late in July the sun had drop
ped SO low that we were in the grateful
shadow of the hills to the westward, and
the small mess fires were beginning to
show their yellow glare among the trees in
preparation for the evening meal. Robson
was talking earnestly with Marata.
''Am I never to see you where can
talk to you as I want?" he asked in the
Navajo tongue. ''You know I love you,
Marata, and that 1 shall make you my
wife when I get my discharge and we
shall be happy then together But it is
too long TO wait 1 must see you and talk
to you of the plans have for our lives. -
He told her that he was to be on picket
duty that night, and she consented to Join
him and fly with him. Their signal was
to be the howl of a coyote.
When they were gone, another figure,
crouched in a elump of bushes, straight
ened itself from its cramped position and
raised its hand with a savage gesture.
1t was the Indian Wild Horse, who had
slipped into this concealment, where he
could hear the lovers intercourse and
Marata S promise.
When Robson went to his post on picket
that night, it was with heart beating high
and eyes kindled with gleam of satisfac-
ton.
With a step as light as a boys he paced
back and forth, back and forth, hum1ning
to himself beneath his breath the melody
of fervid Spanish love song.
"Only o'clock" he said impatiently
at length. ''That means long wait yet,
for she said she would not come until all
was quiet but I would wait for years if
I expected her to come at last. ."
Harkl A dreary, dismal howl came to
him on the night air, making his heart
leap. Could it be the signal? Yes, there
it came again and againl Surely it must
be Marata, for the cry sweIled and waned,
long drawn and sad as the cry of the lost.
Robson hid his rifle in a thicket, then
drew it out again.
81 must have my rifle in case I should
be seen by one of the other pickets, - he
said. He slung it across his shoulder and
stole with stealthy step out into the shad-
ows.
"Maratal''
"Herel'' a voice answered him from the
darkness.
And the impatient lover swung himself
down the cliff with the aid of the over
hanging bushes and stunted trees.
"Marata!" he called again eagerly.
And again the voice answered close at
hand, and he saw dim figure outlined in
the obscure shadows of the canyon, where
the starlight only penetrated ftfuIly. 1t
was not marata, for the dim light showed
him an uplifted arm and the pale glitter
of steel blade descending, and he felt the
sharp pain of the knife in his shoulder,
stumbled and fell sliding helplessly down
the slope to the bottom of the canyon.
1t was the fall that saved him, for other
wise his assailant would have leaped upon
him, and another thrust of the cruel knife
would have sent him out into the un-
known. AS it was he had time to recover
himself, stagger to his feet and draw his
own knife before Wild Horse could swing
himself down the wall of rock to renew
the attack.
Robson's years of frontier service had
made him as skiIIful with the knife as the
Indian himself, and he was no less 1.-the
and strong in body and courageous in
heart, but as they bent, swayed and
struggled watchful and wary, the wound
in Robson s shoulder began to tell and the
loss of blood to weaken him.
A strange feeling of languor took pos
session of him, the glitter of the stars
seemed farther away, and then they
danced before his very eyes as he STUN bled
and slipped over the rough stones.
Bindly he staggered. His nerveless
hand could hardly hold the knife It was
growing darker darker. Suddenly there
came a flash and roar from the wall of the
canyon. Wild Horse screamed in agony,
threw his arms aloft and fell upon the
stones. But Robson did not heed nor see.
The whole earth reeled before him, and he
sank into uncOnsciousness. When he
awoke, fire lit up the canyon, a group of
curious soldiers stood about him, and his
head was pillowed upon Marata's breast.
''Wild Horse came first, - she whispered
when he could listen. Il saw him slip
away and steal down the canyon, and
followed as fast as 1 could, for 1 knew he
meant harm, but 1 could not keep up
with him. heard the struggle and came
down into the canyon. Upon the wall my
foot struck the rifle lying among the
stones, and it was with that I shot him.
The great spirit put it in my way. ="
Robson did not answer in words. He
was smiling peacefully, and his glad eyes
answered for him.-Exchange
The Popular Hero of Romance.
If one may judge from the novels that
young women seem to read with most
avidity, they do not like a lover to be SEN
timental, rhetorical or brutal They still
prefer him to be big and strong, but let
him be careful not to put on airs about it.
There is nothing which seems to please
little woman more than to huniIiate a