Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1894-03-07
FEDERICO'S CRYPT.

home OF the MlramonteS. One hundred
years ago the valley, now dry and barren,
was watered by streams flowing, through
acqueducts, clear and cool from the noun.
tains, and great herds of cattle and fiocks
of sheep grazed on the lucious heritage.
Where still stands some scraggy olive trees
once grew a thrifty orchard, but not even
fallen trunk remains of the noble grove
of live oaks in whose shade Don Federico
Miramonte, the first owner of this vast
estate, built the little chapel whose crum-
bling adobe walls sank into shapeless
mounds of earth long ago.
At little distance from the great house
lived the laborers and servants, in print.
tive dwellings made of tules = reeds
brought from the marshes. The dimen-
sions of Don Federico's estate were defined
by an impregnable boundary line-a hedge
of prickly cacti, planted to prevent the
invasions of hostile Indians from the
mountains. In some places the cacti have
grown to enormous height, fourishing in
the midst of drought and desolation, while
the people they were planted to protect
and the Indians who were their foes have
vanished from the earth.
One morning in October, 1891, two young
men rode toward the old adobe and stopped
to rest in it's shadow. One-dark browed
and sallow skinned, with eyes like black
beads-was Arturo Miramonte, Don Fed
erico's only living descendant. The other
was young architect from New England
named Severson. Evidently the scene was
new to him, for, while the Spaniard sat his
horse and smoked his cigarettes in moody
silence, looking neither to right nor left,
the New Englander's eager eyes took in
every detail of their surroundings. Twice
he was about to speak, but the sight of his
friends melancholy countenance kept him
silent; he knew Miramonte well enough to
understand that he did not wish to be dis
turbed.
"Ayel' said the Spaniard at last. "Val-
game Dios! 1t is dreary scenel You see,
my friend, all that remains!" He spoke
slowly, choosing his words with care. Ar
turo Miramonte detested the English Ian
guage. You can form no idea of the
grandness that once was here. An avenue
of palms led up to the house (they were cut
down by the Americans), and the placita-
the court there senior, where you see the
ruins OF a fountain-was planted with flow
ers and tropical trees. Don Federico's
servants made a village of themselyesl At
night, they say, when the moon shone, he
would sit with his young wife under the
arched porch yonder and watch the people
dancing to the music of guitars and cas-
tanets. But his wife ran away with an
Englishman, and Don Federico became
suddenly an old man, and so morose that
all his people feared him. You have heard
the storyS"
NO" answered Severson Lets go in
side while you tell it."
my great-grandfather's wife was very
beautiful" continued Miramonte, as they
walked across the neglected court, mot
beautiful like our Spanish women, but
with shining red hair and white skin and
soft brown eyes. He brought her with
him when he came to this country, and no
one knows the land of her nativity. He
built this house for her and filled it with
beautiful things-carpets from Persia Don
Federico had been a great traveler) and
pictures and curtains and furniture from
everywhere. He worshiped her instead of
the Virgin. There was nothing he would
not do for her. They were famous for their
hospitality-you have heard of the hospi-
tality Of the Miramontes?-si?-an tray
elers never asked shelter there In vain.
But one day Don Federico found his
wife in the arms of an Englishman, who
was their guest. Why he did not kill
them both do not understand. The
servant heard her screams and prayers for
mercy. That night the faithless woman
disappeared with her lover, and Don
Federico made no search for them. He
forbade the mention of her name He be-
came a recluse, cynic, a miser. and for
hfrfu hol nj 1
pie like king, boarding his money and
growing richer every year. And then, as
suddenly as he had retired from the world
he entered 1t again. 1t was his purpose to
marry, to provide heirs to his wealth.
"But-the wife?" interrupted Seyerson.
Miramonte rolled another cigarette.
"She disappeared with her lover" he re.
peated. "the night after her perfidy was
discovered, and they Wee never heard of
again. Don Federico made no effort to
find them. He wished to forget her. He
spoke of her but once. When he asked nv
great-grandmother's hand in marriage he
told her that he had learned from an au-
thentie source that his first wife was dead.
Fatel He could have chosen any maiden
In this country, for his wealth was great.
and my great-grandmother was regarded
as the most fortunate of women. She. too.
came of pure Castilian blood, senor,n and
Miramonte looked up, with a gesture of
pride. ut is good that the other wife bore
no children. The Miramontes are without
a faint. Vaya, you care little for the blood
you Americanos-es ASH
But, once welded, Don Federico again
withdrew from the world. A sad life she
led-my great-grandmother. She bore him
sons and daughters, and they all feared
him more than they feared God or the
devil. Heseemed to care only to get money
to hoard it and hide it away. To this
day people believe that there is money hid
den in these ruins. You are amused, senior,
You laughs"
Every ruin is said to conceal treasure.
you know" said Severson skeptically.
"Vayap replied the SIaniard, with an.
parent indifference. believe it or not. as
you will; but searches have been made and
money has been found-no matterl Don
Federico lived to be ninety years old, and
his wife was his slave, and his children
were afraid to speak aloud in his presence.
He had grandchildren, too-a sturdy brood
Strange that l alone am leftl He would