The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1894-03-31
FEDERICO,S CRYPT.

In the midst of Il wide tract of unculti-
waited land in southern California stands
q ruined adobe house, once the patriarchal
home of the Miramontes. One hundred
years ago the valley. now dry and barren,
was watered by streams flowing. through
acuuetiucts, clear and cool from the noun.
tains, and great herds OF cattle and flOcks
of sheep grazel on the lucious herbage
Where still stands some scraggy olive trees
once grew thrifty orchard, but not even
a fallen trunk remains of the noble grove
of live oaks in whose shade Don Federico
'Miram0nte, the first owner OF this vast
estate, built the little chapel whose crum-
bling adobe salls sank into $hapeless
mounds OF earth long ago.
AT little distance from the great house
lived the labOrers and servants, in primi-
tive dwellings made of tules - reeds
brought from the marshes. The dimen-
siOns OF Don FedericO'S estate We're defined
by AL 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, fiourishing 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 Il 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, t"t the sight OF his
friends melancholy countenance kept him
silent; he knew Miramontc well enough to
understand that he did not wish TO be dis
turbed.
"Ayer' said the Spaniard at last. Val
game Dios! 1t is a dreary scene! You see,
my friend, all that remains" He spoke
slowly, choosing his word; 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 4 fountain-was planted with flow
ers and tropical trees. Don Federico's
servants made a village of themselves! 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 story"
mo" answered Stevenson 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 be 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 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-
tally of the MISUNDERSTANDING trav.
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 recluse, a cynic, a miser. and for
thirty years he lived alone, ruling his peo-
pie like king, boarding his money and
growing richer every year. And then, as
suddenly as he had retired from the world
he entered it again. 1t was his purpose to
marry, to provide heirs to his wealth.
"But-the wifes" interrupted Severson.
Miramonte rolled another cigarette.
..She disappeared with her lover" he re-
heated, 1.-THE night after her perfidy was
discovered, and they Wee never heard of
And them. He wished to forget her. He
spoke of her but once. When he asked my
oreat-grandmother's hand in marriage he
told her that he-had learned from an au-
thentic source that his first wife was dead.
Fate! 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," and
Miramonte looked up, with gesture of
,ride. ut is good that the other wife bore
no children. The Miramontes are without
: faint. vaya, you care little for the blood
You Americanos- ASH
sBuh once welded, Don Federico again
w;fhdrew from the world. A sad life she
ied-my great-grandmother She bore him