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135 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

over to the hotel with me while I rented a room. I would have to wait two days until another

southbound train could take me on to my destination. I made a telephone call to Albuquerque to

have someone unload my horses and put them up for me until I could get there.

The next morning, I found out that the shooter still clung to his life with a thin thread. The

Sheriff and I went to breakfast together and then we rode out in an automobile, to the ranch

where Antonio Martinez worked, to pay him a short visit. I told Antonio that Gilberto and his

wife were doing well and were expecting that baby any day. I also talked to the boss of the

outfit, with whom I had a deal to deliver some colts again in the fall. When we got back to the

town, we learned that the shooter had passed on. The man who shot him was in jail and he

wanted to talk to me. I didn’t know what to say to him, because, I may have done the same

thing, had my brother been shot like his. Accident or no!

I spoke to the man named Sims and he wanted me to testify in his behalf. I told him I wasn't sure

what to say. He said to just tell the truth. He wanted me to say, that the other man shot his

brother down in cold blood. I told him I couldn't testify to that because I wasn't sure the man

meant to kill his brother. With that, he became surly and started yelling at me. Sheriff Andry let

me out of the back part of the jail and closed the big wooden door between the two

compartments.

We sat and drank the coffee left over from this morning. It tasted old and very strong.

“Sorry for the coffee but it tasted good this morning,” Joe said.

“Well, it’s hot anyway,” I said.

“Do you think anything will happen to Sims, in there?” I asked.

“He’ll stand trial for murder. If that’s what you mean,” Joe said.

“Do you think he’ll get much of a sentence?” I asked.

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