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32 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

“I’m Gideon Thacker and I own this place,” I said as I got off my horse. I walked up to him

on the porch and grabbed the whiskey bottle out of his hand.

“You’re drunk,” I said, “get your stuff and haul it down the road”.

I poured the rest of the booze out on the ground and threw the bottle over by the wood pile.

“ I’ll whup you! You goddam sumbitch!” He said, as he took a swing at me. I ducked the

punch and he fell off the porch. He piled up in a heap, out cold.

One thing about the training I received in the Marines, I knew how to handle my self in those

“mano a mano” situations. I poured the water bucket on him and slowly he came to.

“I’m going to put some coffee on the stove. If you want some before you leave, you’re

welcome but then you get your ass off of Tamale Ridge!” I said.

“I don’t want nothin’ from you,” he said

“Well, then get up and get going”! I said.

I saw a duffle bag on the floor and I threw it at him.

The coffee boiled while he stumbled around trying to saddle his horse. When he rode out of

the place I stood in the doorway of the cabin sipping on the hot coffee, as I watched him ride

down the darkning trail. The next time I saw him was in Newberry when I went to check on my

mail and get some supplies. He looked at me and walked over to me,

“You that Thacker fella that‘s up on Tamale Ridge?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Well, I guess I owe you some money and an apology,” he said.

“Naw you don’t owe me any money and as far as the apology, I accept,” I stuck out my hand

and he took it.

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