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61 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

Juan remained quiet when we rode out of the yard when we left that early morning. Finally I

saw him wave at us. I felt pretty bad about leaving him here but someone needed to stay, and in

case he was still in trouble there. I didn’t want to lose him to the Mexican law.

Gilberto and I were each riding a well broke gelding and leading another, plus I also led a pretty

little buckskin three-year-old stud colt, that I had broke and Gilberto had been riding. He really

had that little horse handling. I called this horse, Handy. He was a sort of peace offering for

Francisco Guerra. He just might be one of the fastest horses I’d ever ridden and I figured he’d

like this pony real good.

We rode right past the Sawmill and on down into Dillon canyon. We rode through the mining

camp of “Brilliant” and again, I noticed that dirty, bearded man staring at us. I saw that Gilberto

noticed him too. The man watched us ride on down the canyon and stared after us. He looked

familiar to me, like I’d seen that feller someplace before but I couldn’t remember where.

We rode into Raton and put our horses up at the livery and went in search of a meal and a

room for the night. We were to catch our train the next morning. We found a place to sleep for

the night and a little grub. After we ate we went to our room and this place had electric lights!

Gilberto had seen electricity in Denver but he was still amazed by it. He asked me a lot of

questions that I couldn’t answer but I tried. He asked me who come up with the idea and I said,

“a man who spoke good English.” When we turned in, Gilberto said “Good night boss.” in

nearly perfect English. The next day at 9:00 in the morning, we loaded our horses on the train

and settled down for a long ride. The train would stop briefly in Las Vegas but I knew of no way

to get word to Antonio in time to see him. We walked around town a little and thought we might

run into him, or someone who knew him.

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