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126 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

I worked harder than usual, to get things done so I could make a little trip. I wouldn’t be gone

long, maybe two weeks at the most. It was good to have Tamale home where he belonged again.

We paid plenty for him but I knew Uncle Trent was smiling down on us for going through with

it. On the seventeenth of May, I rode to Raton to catch the train again. I was going to Rancho

Seco to try, once again, to buy some mares from Francisco Guerra and I planned on bringing

Rosemarie back to live on Tamale Ridge. I left instructions with Juan and Gilberto to take care

of things while I was gone. Joe and Molly Simmons could be depended on to help with the baby

when the time came.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

As the flood in the small arroyo grew out of that sudden desert storm, Ramon felt more and

more like a drowned rat. The sound of the flood and roaring water deafened him to the point that

he could barely hear the loud crash of the thunder overhead. These sudden storms out here were

dangerous but necessary to sustain life. They were also just as capable of taking lives. Ramon

stood waist deep in the flooding waters and prayed that he didn’t lose his foothold. As the

rushing floodwater began to rise, he could smell the dead smell that accompanies the muddy,

frothy, water. All of a sudden, he felt the bank give way above him and the small tree he was

lashed to, came loose. He went all the way down into the thick, brown, rushing floodwater. He

desperately tried to stand up. He knew to keep his head above the surface but the tree held him

down. He struggled to get free but the weight of the tree sapling with the force of the water kept

him under. The rawhide strips that held his hands were getting wetter all the time, due to the rain

and now the flood water. He silently prayed for his life as the flood tossed him over and then

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