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64 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

Gilberto knew enough people on the way that we never had to pay for a meal, except once or

twice or a place to sleep.

We turned south and rode into the flat desert country and I had no trouble picking the way.

The first time I had avoided a lot of the small ranchos and pueblos. This time, however, we

stopped at nearly every one that was in our path. We spotted smoke not too far away and knew

someone would be near.

We found the little plaza and went in to see if there was a chance for a meal. I had money and

Gilberto had money but I never let Gilberto pay for anything. He was workin’ for me and we

were on business for the ranch.

We dismounted in front of the plaza square, by a small wooden water trough and let our

horses drink. We loosened the cinchas, tied up in front of the cantina and went inside. We ate

and were leaving when Gilberto struck up a conversation with another young man who invited us

to stop by his folks place a few miles ahead. He wanted Gilberto to give them a message for

him. We found the place with no problem and Gilberto met the sister of the young man.

Claudia was her name and as pretty a little gal as I’d ever seen, except for Rosemarie, of course

and I could see they had eyes for each other.

When we rode out of the Espinosa place, he didn’t say much at first, then he asked me a lot of

questions and it was hard to tell at first what he was trying to get at. He wanted to know what

became of Mexicans who lived in the United States and lost their jobs.

“They just look for another job, I guess.”

“How does he get another job?” he wanted to know.

“There will always be work for a man who is not lazy.” .

“What if the man has a wife and maybe children?” he asked.

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