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20 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

The old man said something very softly to someone behind him and out from under the trees

walked a slender young girl. It is not polite to stare but I couldn’t make my eyes look away from

her face. I was struck full force by her beauty.

The old man said.

“Señor. Thees ees Señorita, Rosemarie Guerra, che weeshes to talk weeth you.”

She explained that her father was full of hate because of a white man that recently persuaded his

second wife to leave him for a better life in the United States. He wanted nothing to do with

those he called, “Gringo’s.” He blamed the white man for taking his woman and when she left,

her step mother, Teresa took some of the cattle with her.

I found it hard to keep up with the conversation. Not because of her English, which she

spoke well although broken but, because of her beauty! I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I told

her that I meant her nor her family any harm but I desprately needed some mares to cross with

my bloodline. She said that she rode near the camp spot that I chose the night before and spied

on me to see what my intentions were. She said it was there she noticed my fine horses.

When she heard about the white man who rode fine looking horses coming to her fathers rancho,

she wanted to talk to him. I took that as a compliment and being proud but not intending to brag,

I said:

“I have a herd sire back home in New Mexico called Amarillo. He is even more handsome

and capable. He is a brother to these horses,” putting my hand on the rump of Julio,

I continued,

“Amarillo is the son of the great sire, Tamale. Tamale is also the father of other fine horses.

“Have you heard of “Tamale?” I asked her.

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