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63 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

sounded like just the beginning. I wanted Olivia to get all the education she craved and then I

could hire her to help with the books. I could read and write and figure pretty good but I wanted

no part of sitting around with a paper and pencil all day long.

The train stopped in Las Vegas and I knew that Gilberto wanted to see his brother but the

train only stayed long enough to take on water. If we missed that train, it would be two days

before another south bound came through. It didn’t stop for very long again until we got to

Albuquerque where Gilberto and I got off to stretch our legs and unload our horses. We let them

drink and walk around. The rumors were that soon the train wouldn’t accept horses. They were

planning to do away with the cattle cars. What was this world coming to?

We finally reached El Paso and unloaded our horses for the last time and rode on into

Mexico. I didn’t want to go across the river until we got south of Fort Hancock, in Texas. We

crossed into Mexico and rode a few miles to “Cajoncitos”. We rode cautiously through the Rio

Grande, because of the possibilities of quicksand. The bottom of a river can change from one

flood to the next. If your horse don’t want to cross in a certain place, it is best to let him pick a

spot he likes. This is another time it is wise to follow a cow trail. They know instinctively

where to cross and where not to cross. It was forty miles or better to Gilberto’s home but we

talked about it and decided to try to visit them after we picked up the mares.

“I would like for my mother and the young ones to see me,” he said.

“I didn’t think I would miss them so much but I can not recall their faces,” Gilberto said.

“We will see them before we leave Mexico,” I told him.

“Señor,” Gilberto said, “I have saved the money that I have earned working for you and I

would see that the madre gets it to help the family.”

“Si amigo,” I answered.

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