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31 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

I noticed he kept looking at the girl. I also noticed that she tried every way she knew to avoid

contact with him. He sat across from me with a toothpick in his lips and leaned back in the

wooden chair with his arms folded and a smug look on his face.

“I been rodeoin!” He said, “I ain’t seen you anywhere. Did you quit ridin?” he asked.

“Naw. I been awful busy around the place and haven’t really been anywhere.

“Haven’t been anywhere?” He looked at the waitress with a smirk then back at me.

“So-,” he paused, “I heard you went down to Chihuahua.”

“Whadjado down there?”, he asked and I told him as little as I could get away with.

Billy and I sat there for a good hour talking about horses and riding broncs. It sounded like

he was making a living at riding bucking horses. As he stood up to leave, he asked if I had any

Tamale horses I wanted to sell. I’m trying to hang onto a few for myself but I do have a couple

of colts and some fillies I’d let go IF the price was right. After he left I thought, I didn’t like

him when I first met him but now that he’s growing up, he ain’t so bad.

From Billy’s comments, I knew that he had heard something about my trip to Mexico. It

seems that local folks were keeping up with my adventures, whether they needed to or not. I

remembered my first meeting with Billy Watkins:

When I first arrived at Tamale Ridge I saw smoke coming from the chimney. The ranch was

supposed to be abandoned. I recognized this place even though I’d never been here before.

“Hello The Camp!” I hollered. In a couple minutes Billy came out, looking like hell. His

shirt tail out, carrying a whisky bottle and shading his eyes from the late afternoon sun.

“Whatcha want?” he slurred.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Well, who the hell are YOU?” he Yelled.

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