Very respectfully,
A. J. FOUNTAIN.
The recent mysterious murder or disappearance of Fountain in New Mexico renders further comment from me improper, except to state that very soon after writing the above letter he became my bitter assailant and traducer, and at the time he wrote the letter he was secretly conspiring with my most unscrupulous and most relentless enemies. His malignity appeared to increase with the failure of every effort to do me harm.
ARREST AT SAN ELEZARIO—ASSAULT BY ATKINSON.
In 1871, when the Davis administration was in full power and the notorious State police of that day were “rough riding” over the State, one John Atkinson (of whom more anon) commanded that force in El Paso County.
I went, with my wife and brother, A. E. Mills, in my ambulance to attend court at San Elezario, which was then the county seat. There was a State law against carrying arms, “except when traveling,” and we went armed. Immediately upon arriving at the county seat my brother and myself were arrested by Atkinson and his police and taken from the ambulance, leaving Mrs. Mills alone, and carried toward the jail. At that time the Mexican people thoroughly hated Atkinson and his party, but were devoted to me and my friends. There was some halting and parleying before we reached the jail door, and we saw groups of Mexicans consulting here and there and occasionally one with arms. I remember my brother whispering to me: “These people will take us out of jail before morning, but we will probably be dead.”
A Mexican, Maximo Aranda, who was justice of the peace, summoned Atkinson to bring his prisoners before him, and immediately ordered our release upon the ground that we were travelers and had a right to carry arms.
That night I went alone and unarmed to the house of a respectable citizen, where I had been invited to a party. I took a seat at one side of the room. The District Judge, District Attorney, Sheriff and Clerk of the Court, all enemies of mine, were dancing. When all were seated and the music ceased Atkinson stood before me, one hand on his six-shooter and the other in my face, and called me many pet names, the mildest of which were “coward” and “liar,” and threatened to shoot me if I spoke or moved.