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53 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

“Si,” sn oh,” I said.

I fluttered my hands and fingers, from up in the air to down below my waist and said,

“Sn oh ing.”

Gilberto repeated it.

“Sn oh ing,” he repeated it several times.

Juan and Gilberto worked together halter breaking the colts and fillies. I watched them and

knew they would get along just fine together. Gilberto took charge of those young horses and

there would be no doubt as to who the boss was. Gilberto could be stern and gentle at the same

time. Juan, a good hand with horses in his own right, stood and watched the young man. Juan

looked at me and raised his eyebrows as Gilberto would get those colts to do things with ease

that others could never accomplish.

I rode back toward Raton and led the extra horse I’d borrowed from the livery there. There

were bootleggers sometimes, in the hills and I made a point of staying on the main roads and

trails. Bootleggers would shoot first and ask questions later. As I rode through Brilliant, I

looked up a man named Smith that sometimes bought cattle from me and a few others. The man

would butcher the older cows and sell the beef to some of the miners. I heard stories that the

man liked to play poker and sometimes paid off his gambling debts in beef. I found the man

loafing in front of the company store. We talked for a short while and I told him I could let him

have two or three head, if he could come get them. Our business done, we shook hands and I

mounted up and rode down the canyon toward Raton. I got the feeling of someone watching me

and turned in the saddle. I saw a dark, bearded man watching every move I made. There was

something darn familiar about the feller. He tried to look like he wasn’t watching me but

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