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118 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

might even go to the United States with him, leaving no one to claim the rancho and its

holdings. There were many cattle and horses to be had. Without Ramon, who would take over?

Raul knew good men when he saw one and he would admit that Señor Thacker was all man

and would be good to Rosemarie. He had even said a little about it to Guerra. Francisco just

grunted when it was mentioned.

The two Mexican bandits didn’t ride fast enough to get as far as they would have liked. Raul

shot the one called Miguel from a little less than one hundred yards and the other even closer.

Raul gathered up the horses. Noticing the boy’s rifle, he retrieved it. He also noted that

Ramon’s horse was one of the horses, now recovered. He started back tracking.

Ramon, wherever he was, was afoot and he couldn’t get far. Raul wanted to hurry, for he

could tell that a storm was getting ready to release its fury on the parched desert floor. He saw a

small overhang and headed for it.

Ramon came to again and realized he was in trouble. He was tied and all alone. He could

still hear Geraldo’s voice telling Miguel that Francisco Guerra was dead. A small cloud that

was hanging overhead was now starting to grow into a big black cloud. The small sapling that

held Ramon’s hands behind his back had a few leaves but it would not be much shelter in a

storm like the one that was coming. The thunder roared and the lightning cracked in the sky

overhead. At first only a few drops fell then, as if someone threw a bucket of water on him he

felt the rain soak him almost immediately. He stayed on his feet the best that he could and

knew full well that he better. The small arroyo he was in could turn into a full-fledged flood in

the matter of a few minutes. If he didn’t stand up, the water could get deep enough to drown

him. He wanted to live to see the men, who killed his father, brought before a firing squad. He,

Ramon Guerra, would organize it himself.

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