, 1904-11-09
HER HERO
Bv Lillian c. PASCHAL
Copyright, 1904. by Lillian G. Paschai
Copyright, 1904, by Lillian G. Paschai


Nell was nineteen. II want a reai
man, one that can do things"
This with a lofty scorn and a curl OF
her red lips as she thrummed her gul-
far in the light of the campfire. There
had been a light scud of snow during
the day, and the air was chill, though
1t was August, but Yellowstone park
is no respecter of calendars.
81 can do one thing, love the most
tantalizing little witch that ever walked
all over a mans heart"
Jack Stanley sprawled on the thick
carpet of pine needles at her rect
glanced up half pleadingly, half quiz
zically into the pouting face OF the
small autocrat of the camp. "Why
won't you marry me? Your father
wishes it. 1 have enough
Eyes, / know she interrupted has
tily. "You have all the ordinary re-
quirements-wealth, position, good
looks, family" checking them off with
her pink fingers, land l suppose a rea-
sonable amount of brains, though in
our way of living they are needed SO
little that She paused suggestiyely.
"Well, then, what's the trouble? You
haven't yet said the only thing that
will send me away like the other fell
lows-that you don't love me-dear.
AS for the hero business and all that
rot
at isn't rot" exclaimed Nell indig-
nantly. 81 know you think me school
girl sentimental. I'm not. It's just
this: You men when you aren't impos-
sible are all so much alike these days
l can't differentiate. You're like your
ugly black clothes, all cut by the
same pattern and apparently from the
same cloth. How a a woman single
out one of you and feel that he is the
one above all others to love and to
cling to lin sickness and in health y
"'Till death us do part" he finished
low.
"Why don't you do something to
make me love you? 1 want to. l
can't" She stamped her little noun
tain climbing boot holly. "We don't
get at the realness of life. A true,
primitive instinct is unknown to us
all. Even our pretended roughing it
for the novelty of the thing is an ar
rific1al sham. We come In a special
train. Our tents are filed with hair
mattresses, down quilts and Nayajoes.
You must have a French valet to dress
you each morning in hat brave khaki
suit of yours, which never saw real
service and never will. My tailored
short skirt came from Paris and is
silk lined. Do you know my grand
father went over that old Mormon
trail down yonder to the south with
an OK team? And my grandmother
walked beside it most of the way.
I'd like to marry a real pioneer, a true
history maker. That's the kind of
man l could love. He'd be a hero to
me If he didn't have a dollar and had
never heard of the twostep."
Nell held her flushed checks and
shining eyes for one intoxicating in
slant up close to his own, then turned
like a flash and ran back among the
white cleaning tents to her own lux
urious quarters, where a sleepy maid
waited her coming.
The mar picked up her guitar and
held it lovingly like a child in his
arms. 1t was hers, and he loved il
for her sake. He knew he could feel
all the primitive instincts"-the long
ing for wife and child and the warmth
of a home fire instead of the cold
splendor of his club-but how make
Nell see it and respond to it?
Long he sat there by the ashening
embers, while the tall, stately pines
tossed their fragrant censers and in.
toned their mournful chant above. and
the cold moon lit up, one by one. the
ghostly pillars of steam which rose
DAY and night from the geysers and
vent holes in the Fire Hole basin be
low.
A huge black bulk came lumberine
from the deep shadows back of the
camp and skulked near the commits
sary tent, whence presently rose =
u of falling tinware and the oh
Jurgations of the French chef as brui1
ambled away with paws and inv,
sticking full of the toothsome con
tents Of the butter tub.
AS bruins sticky footballs padded
heavily down the slope a slow grir
overspread Jack Stanley's face. HI
stood up and blew an airy kiss to th,
smiling moon.
she wants a real man, Ell? Well
sweet Mistress Nell has always hac
what she wanted, and she mustn't h,
disappointed in a little matter of hus
bandsi"