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1 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

* TAMALE RIDGE ** By: Chuck Cusimano

Feburary 1921 - New Mexico - Sangre De Cristo Mountains

CHAPTER ONE

The sound of a bullet striking its target makes a distinct sound. When it connects with a

living being, the sound is unmistakable.

I knew my aim was good. From my position, I held the rifle steady and close to my

shoulder. I had killed men in the war and it was never a pleasant experience. When it was “kill

or be killed,” I always wanted to come out on top. In a life and death situation, there is no

second place. I learned that there are, sometimes, necessary deaths.

This was a necessary death . . .

I rode up out of the draw that led to my camp and looked back across to the ridge above the

home place. There is no way I could have missed the shot. I knew I could shoot as good as the

next guy with a rifle.

He stood right about here and I shot from the cabin. He was in the open and the distance was

not far. I used the Springfield, bolt action 30-06. A cartridge deadly at any range up to five

hundred yards. I wouldn’t be troubled in the task of finding him for he would be losing blood. I

aimed for the chest cavity and squeezed off the shot in a place that would put him down. When

I rode over the ridge I started seeing some blood. At first, a few drops then more blood. The

blood was frothy which meant I’d made a lung shot. He wouldn’t get far. He would be easy to

find. I couldn’t afford to let him get away. I needed to know where he was. I kept looking.

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