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36 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

drooped from the weight of the heavy snow. The sun wanted to make up for the time it spent

hiding behind the clouds and shone bright enough to blind you. I looked the mares over several

times while I fed them. They shivered and I felt sorry for them. They grew no winter hair to

speak of, because of the climate they were used to. After looking around, I found some old wool

blankets to put on them and it helped them a lot. Juan just laughed at me for putting the blankets

on the mares.

“Ju just like ju ancle!” He said. “He always tink of the Caballo.” He ver good man, ju ancle.

Ju do good thees place, Juan he no rec-onize it.” I tink ju ancle he make good choice.”

“Juan,” “Where did you get the bay horse you rode in here?” I asked,

“That ju horse. He was ju ancle, now ju ancle he dead, now he ju horse.” Ju ancle, he call

thees horse “Jock”, “Ju know, Marcelo, he want thees horse. He want kill Juan for thees horse

but Marcelo geet heemself keel trying,” Juan said.

“Who is, well, was Marcelo?” I asked.

“Marcelo Rodriguez? He worken for Señor Guerra. Breaking the potros, “colts” for

Francisco.” He ver good man weeth horses but ver bad man weeth Juan,” he said, “Ju know

thees Alamocitas, wher ju meet La Señorita?” he asked.

“Si, Yo recuerdo,” I responded. Meaning, “Yes I remember.”

“Thees wher Marcelo he try kill Juan. He tink Juan muy Viejo and no fight heem. He pull

pistola on Juan and make beeg mistake. He walk too close, so he no miss, but ahnder the serape,

I gotta navaja, I stick all the way and tweest! I no miss too! Marcelo, he buried there. I no want

ju forgeet. Marcelo he not buried by hees self. La Señorita, che tell me, “Juan. Ju take mares

and go to Señor Thacker. I talk to Papa for ju.”

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