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18 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

“Yes,” I stated, “I searched for only the best and I was told of Francisco Guerra. It is said that

there are none better than the Guerra horses, in all of Mexico.”

I talked to him for a few more minutes and he told me very little except that his name was

Ramon Guerra. His actions and manner told me he had a chip on his shoulder.

A heavy door opened and a stout built man in his mid, to late forties walked up and

gave me a hard look.

“I am Francisco Guerra! What are you doing on my land?” He demanded.

I stood and offered him my handshake but he just snarled at it and again shouted,

“Get off of my land and be glad that I let you leave with your life!”

“Perdone me Señor,” I spoke, “I am only here on business.”

“I have no business with you, Señor. You were not invited!” He said.

“I am only here to see your horse herd and see if I want to take some mares home to raise

only the best horses in the United States. Everyone knows of my great horses, in New Mexico.

To continue raising good horses, I must have the best mares I can find.”

He looked like he was going to burn up with hatred right in front of my eyes and said,

“I will not permit you to take any of my lleguas north and we have no more to speak!”

With that he turned and left. His large roweled Mexican spurs ringing as he walked away.

The young boy turned his upper lip at me and stood up from his seat and said,

“If I were you Señor, I would do as my father says. Leave this place! Never to return!”

I stood there only for a moment then walked to my horses. I could see that I had no more

business to do here. I mounted up and rode out of the yard. I rode back toward home, the way I

had come. Disappointed in the meeting, I rode a few miles to the same spot I had camped the

previous night and dismounted to make a small night camp. It proved to be a good spot that

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