Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1895-10-31
\ LOCAL COLOR TRAGEDY.

! When Violet Lingard announced she
was going in for literature there were
| those among US who scotfed. Violet
was so alarmingly pretty, one would
never suspect her of possessing
brains. She was one of those girls
with alluring faceS-the sort Of beauty
-du-diable of which Ouida is always
writing, eyes of most unhoIy blue and
lips which could smile a mans soul
away. A fascinating mink with the
most graceful and winning manners;
a being of moods, tender, repellant,
kindly and icy by turns, she had Gre
ated havoc and StreWn devastation
wherever her dainty feet had trod.
Suddenly she Wearied of the endless
round of gayety and fashion to which
from her teens She had been accus-
toned and amazed her coterie by de-
claring her intention of writing re
aGstic novels. Of course every one
said it was merely a fad and would
soon blow over. But it didn't, that
was the astounding part of it.
Her first novel attracted more
than passing notice. She was COM
mended for her original and audacious
style, her clever plot and a certain
dainty feminine touch. She was writ
ten about, interviewed; her beauty
and talent were praised by the para
grapherS and all the details of her
luxurious life were blnndiShed about
the country. From being merely a
typical society girl, a young woman
of elegance and fashion, she suddenly
became a somebody to be pointed out
and stared at and raved about
This Sp&smOdic adrlatiOn pleased
Violet. She had always Toasted upon
fattery, but now she reveIed in it.
She threw herself into a life of fever
iSh emotion, became cynical disdain-
fui, and thought of nothing but her
miserable ambition.
Local cOlOrug came to be an absO-
lutte mania with her. She was always
pra ting Of atmosphere" and real
ISM One can stand a lot of internal
nonsense from a pretty woman, but
really poor Violet often grew actually
about ''the divinity of realism
1t was just after publishing her sec
Ond novel. a combination of ingenuity
and Wickedness, a smartiSh, brackish
story you wouldn't have liked your
sister t. read. that the girl decided
to go to the far west in search of
local color" for her next attempt.
CHI
lady air Of diSdain she had assumed
since her success, yes, l am going IN
search Of local color and a hero.
may take a cowboy for the latter
who knows? They tell me those fell
lows are delightfully."- original and as
breezy as the winds from the Rockies
She made up her mind she had not
been misinformed when, month
later, she met Jack Weatherby.
Weatherby was a child Of the
plains. He had never been east of
the Mississippi and had an infinite
contempt for the land of the rising
sun. He had hunted for a living; he
had been a cowboy and raised as
much of a rumpus in mining camps
as the next fellow. Now he owned
his own ranch and herds; had settled
down somewhat and begun to think
he would like wife and home.
He was a handsome fellow, as fiery
as the mustang he rode and as tender
hearted as a Woman-some women.
His ranch lay in the shadow of the
Sangre de Christie range, next to that
of the Athertons, where the New
York girl was stopping. It's acres
stretched to the shadowy foot hills
and over them roamed the sleek,
Well-fed creatures of which he was
SO proud.
1t was two days after her arrival
that he saw her first. He had ridden
over t. see Tom Anterior, the big
muscular Englishman, who was his
particular crony, and had come down
the trail With his customary 'Hark'
and ''WhO0p." AS though riding the
sightless couriers of the air, he
dashed up to the little flower garden,
spurs and chains jingling, sombrero
tapping, and letting out a yell which
could have been heard in Denver.
And there by the side of pretty Mrs.
Anterior sat a stranger, a vision, an
angel! The astonished ranchman
blUshed and stammered like a school
boy as he bowed awkwardly and
apologized for his Apache-like de-
scent.
Who was this divinity in paleSt
pink, this radiant creature with hair
like gold ard eyes of heavens own
blue?
My friend, Miss Lingard from New
York" Mrs. AthertOn said.
PshaW! She was a celestial being
straight from Paradise.
l have always pitied Weatherby
| Never for one moment could | blame
him. He was q primitive man with
savage instincts lurking iE his breast
Brave, loyal, straightforward himself,
how could he dream of the treacher-
GUS cruel blows one little soft white
hand was capable of dealing?
Violet found this sturdy, brawny
ranchero a delightful study, and de-
cided he should be the hero of her
next newell. His quaint wit and poetic
/ fancies bcrn Of the meSas and the
| fountains, his forcible and often IN
! gramuIatiral speech were faithfully
| bIc vryaro