Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1881-06-15
CONCHlTA JUAREz.
A STORY OF Tnn nIo oRAypr,

Upon the banks Of the Rio Gande,
not very far from the quaint little town
OF Tcquita, stood ranch, the ranchero,
or proprietor, being ono Senor Ignacio
Juarez. This dwelling, although bear.
Ing somewhat the outward semblance Of
q Mexican homestead, was remarkable
for the elegance Of its architecture
which partook slightly OF the Italian
villa, inasmuch as IL boosted rcd'tiled
campanile-and for the lavish magniA-
cence Of its interior decorations, o
splcndor that bore evidence to tho taste
and wealth OF its proprietor.
In this land, where nature has been
80 prodigal Of her gifts, tho luxurious
appointments of this charming abode
seemed TO partake Of tho character Of
fairy palace, and the admixture OF OBJ
jects Of high art, the treasures OF Italian
galleries and Spanish collections with
the vivid realities OF tho scene, favored
this illusion.
The owner OF this famous ranch,
lgnacio Juarez, was widowei
with an only child-a girl Of sixteen,
He gave it to be understood that he was
q Spaniard by birth; some avowed that
he was Mexican, others that he was n
Texan, md one or two alleged that he
came from New York-an assumption
that the ease and nuency OF his
English went far to corroboratc.
OF whatever nationality he came, Ger.
tain it is that a mystery hung over both
his native land and his history; and, Is
he showed little disposition to enlighten
the world on these subjects, as is usual
in such cases, his neighbors took their
revenge by invcnting hundred stories
about him, each one only worse than the
other.
His daughter, Conchita, was girl Of
exceptional beauty. II the deep brown
of her skin almost conveyed the reproach
and such it is-ci Indian blood,
the delicate outline Of her features,
and, in particular, of her mouth, at
once contradicted the suspicion. The
lips were beautifully arched, and al
though plump and rounded, had none
of the fullness of the degraded race.
Although not yet sixteen, her figure
had all the graceful development Of
womanhood, without having entirely
lost q certain air of fawn-like elasticity.
Her eyes, dark and lustrous, when OK.
cited literally flashed.
1t was n glorious night, and the deep
blue sky glittered with stars. A deli
cate but voluptuous perfume pervaded
the atmosphere-the evening prayer OF
the flowers which surrounded the
dwelling like a many-hued carpet.
In the deep piazzas was now assem-.
bled numerous party of men, disposed
in every attitude of lounging, ease and
abandonment.
They seemed-though, perhaps, after
different estimates-to be enjoying the
delicious balm and freshness of the
night air. They were of various ages,
and some were attired in full charro,
their costumes aiding in no inconsidera-
BILE degree the picturesque effect Of a
scene Salvador might have painted.
Not only on the piazza itself, but on
the marble steps, and even beneath
these again on the close shaven turf, the
party lay, sated, as it were, with splen'
dor and recruiting strength for new dis
sipations.
Some sat talking in low and whisper.
ing voices, Us if unwilling by sound
to break the Silly calm. Others, in per.
feet silence, seemed to drink in the
soothing influence of the tranquil mo.
ment, or smoked cigarettes in dreamy
sndolence. Behind the piazza, and
opening by several large windows upon
it, could be seen the splendid saloon, re.
splondent with wax lights, and still dis.
playing on the loaded table the rem
nants of q sumptuous repast, around
which epergnes of gold, festooned with
flowers, appeared.
Presently, handsome young fellow,
almost the youngest of the party,
bounded to his feet, and throwing his
sombrero, which had lain beside him
On the grass, on his head, asked in q
careless tone of caballero beside him:
"Where's Conchita"
"With Rny Gomez, in the orange
grove yonder."
"Say you so, Alvarado~
"Ill wager my mustang against
yours, Jago Martinez"
The brow of Martinez grew black as
thunder. cloud as he strobe away in
the direction Of grove, from whence
the delicious odor Of the orange bios
SONS came in subtle but almost enervat-
ing richness.
Pulling his broad leavcd hat upon bis
brows, and his head sunk on his bosom.
Jago Martinez traversed the winding
walks until he came TO the margin OF o
small lake; then he entered the grove,
through whoset ick shade heproceeded
silently and cautiously.
The air was calm and motionless, and
none save one who had received the
education Of the prairie-hunter could
have followed the track so noiselessly
Suddenly he halted.