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98 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

Big Jim Two Feathers had been to the ranch twice since I’d gotten back from Chihuahua and

it was always good to see him. He sure liked the little blue horse and he called him “Vera

Cruz” for the time he and I spent together. He was going to meet us in Trinidad. He was a real

good hand with a rope and was going to rope in the rodeo there. In the winter months, he stayed

with his folks and helped them but in the spring, summer and fall months, he bounced around

all over the country working on different ranches. I asked him when he was going to settle

down and he said.

“When I find somebody that can cook to suit me.” Then he threw the same question at me.

“Well,” I finally told him, “I have found someone that I want to spend the rest of my life with

but I’m having a hard time convincing her.”

“She the one that lives in Mexico?” He asked.

“That’s the one,” I told him.

“Why don’t you just go down there and get her?” He asked.

“It ain’t that simple,” I said. “She comes from a very strict and traditionalized family. Her

dad don’t want her having anything to do with me and she won’t go against his wishes.”

I didn’t want to talk about it that much, so I changed the subject.

“How was that ranch job down at Branson?” I asked him.

“It was a good one,” he said. “The cooking was good enough and the cow boss was a good

hand. They sure got some good cow country over there.” There was a feller riding a line back

strawberry roan that shore looks like that bay horse Juan rides,” he said.

I said, “You mean Jack?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Built just like him. Just a different color. Same purty head and

everything.”

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