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99 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

That was something to think about.

Since we were going to be gone for several days, I decided we’d take the spring wagon with us.

As I drove it, Gilberto followed along leading the saddle horses. There were a lot of people in

Trinidad when we got there.

I went to the Trinidad bank and asked about an account for mu Uncle Trent Williams. The

man dug out a ledger and scanned it for Trent Williams’s name.

“Yep, young fellah”, he said, “he does have an account here. What makes you have an

interest in it?”

I showed him the letter from the lawyer which stated that I was the sole heir to all of the

holdings belonging to Trent Williams. He asked me what I wanted to do with the money. I told

him I wanted to join the two accounts into one in my name. It was a little more than two

thousand dollars that was added to my account. The money would help a lot.

We camped at the fair grounds and cooked what we ate mostly. Gilberto was as wide eyed as

ever. His English was getting very good. He could carry on a conversation, as long as it had to

do with, ranching, horses and cows. He ran into some other Mexican boys there and it seemed

to relax him a little. Billy Watkins was there and was drinking a little. He saw me and came up

right away.

“Well, well! The Tamale Ridge bronc rider is here!”

I nodded and tried to avoid any trouble with him. He was still twenty feet away from me and I

was talking to another man at the time.

“By God! Don’t ignore me!” He said as he approached me at a fast walk.

“Billy,” I said, “You looking for trouble again?”

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