“Just before we were married,” Albert Jennings Fountain said, taking up his story again, “I had been reassigned to Fort Bliss in El Paso. My orders were to round up any stray Confederate soldiers and bring them to justice. Instead I found out the local Indian tribes proved the most bothersome for me.
"Because, you see," he added, "after we defeated the Confederates here, many of the Apache were well-armed with what used to be confederate weapons. The Mescalero, the Mimbreño and the Chiricahua were to be a thorn in my side for a long time."
Albert said he had retired from the army about three years ago.
"Back in El Paso," he said, "I had helped to establish the first Protestant house of worship. We named it St. Clement’s Episcopal Church. I thought of moving my family here away from the danger zone. La Mesilla seems like such a nice town in which to raise a family. I am negotiating with the Barelas for a place that I can call home."
The woman entered the room where they spoke carrying a piping hot pot of tea and poured it into cups on the table between. The Hermit smiled and thanked her before taking the steaming cup to his lips.
"In El Paso I ran for Customs Inspector and won," Albert went on. "That’s about the time that I attracted the notice of W.W. Mills, the collector of customs. He took me on and, on the sly, he told me that we could make a lot of money if we teamed up with Samuel A. Maverick, who was the local entrepreneur. He asked if I would be interested in joining with them in a venture where we could seize control of the salt deposits in the Guadalupe Mountains and charge locals a hefty price to use it. They were known as ‘The Salt Ring.’
"But no," he quickly added. "That kind of stuff did not sit too well with me. Instead, I joined Gaylord Clarke and Albert H. French in forming the ‘Anti-Salt Ring.’ Of course, this started a long-running feud between the Mills and the Fountains. That’s why I’m considering a move up here to La Mesilla. The only thing keeping me away is the fact that I was elected to the Texas Senate. I am spearheading what is known as the ‘Frontier Protection Bill.’ It's purpose is to reactivate the Texas Rangers and bring some semblance of order to this part of the territory.”
As he was speaking, Giovanni had kept characteristically quiet as he observed Albert Jennings Fountain’s hands, which he gesticulated with wildly as he spoke. Giovanni had learned enough from the palm reader in Doña Ana to sense Mr. Fountain was to one day face a tragic death.
As Albert was speaking, little Henry had sneaked away from his mother and came to sit on his father’s lap. The older man wrapped his arms around the boy. Just then, the Hermit lapsed into a vision that blurred his sight and focused his attention on the father and son seated before him.
In his mind’s eye, the holy Hermit could see Albert and his son traveling back to La Mesilla riding on a buckboard. They were coming from the eastern part of the territory, where Albert had prosecuted some cattle rustlers.
As he continued to stare off into space, the Hermit saw himself standing next to this father and son as they entered the Tularosa Basin. They were being shadowed by three other men, who had evil intentions in their hearts. As they rounded a chalky hill closer to home, the men ambushed both of them, wrenching the little boy from his father’s arms. The frightened father didn’t even have enough time to look around for his cartridge belt before he too was clunked on the head with a pistol butt handle. As he fell unconscious little Henry screamed in terror.
One of the men jumped on the buckboard and rode it pell-mell some 12 miles back, closer to the unsteady, shifting piles of white sand nearby. In the back of the buckboard Albert Jennings Fountain groaned painfully as he tried to fight his way back to consciousness.
Giovanni’s vision became more blurred as he could make out splashes of bright red blood be-soaking the burning white sand. He could see the three men strip the bodies of their possessions and dump the father and son into a shallow grave that had been hastily dug. One of the men pocketed the very Masonic Lodge pin Albert was wearing so proudly on his chest. The Hermit’s ears were ringing with the words “Fall, fall, fall!”
As the vision of the future of the lawman and his son came to a close, the Hermit stood up out of his chair, shocked by the foul deed that would spell their fates. Should he try to warn them, they would surely consider him a madman.
He staggered up to his feet, and Albert cradled his little boy, who had fallen fast asleep. He rocked him softly like a male version of the Pietà that Giovanni had seen so many times back in his native Italy. As he shuffled past them to the front door, Albert looked up and asked in a low voice, “What was it you needed to see me about?”
“Oh, it — it was nothing,” mumbled the Hermit, before beating a hasty retreat back out into the night.
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