Pig's End - The Nonstop Ramblings of Walter P. Pimsbury

Now, you may have heard of our town by means of the large monument of a pig’s tail in the centre of our town. The monument also includes the hind end of the pig, which some people think is unnecessary, but our town has always been famous for its pigs, and I don’t see as there’s any harm in having the rest of a pig’s south end on the monument, seeing as it is “Pig’s End” that’s the name of the town and not just “Pig”. Our town’s as famous for its people as it is for its monument, and though I myself have never done anything in particular, being a Pimsbury, and the seventh generation of Pimsburys in Pig’s End, and the fourth Walter in the family.

Well, as I was saying, ol’ Walter P. Pimsbury ain’t never done anything in particular that’s worth sayin’, not like some of them folks downtown, not naming no names, o’ course, but I might cock an eye at them Sygeras, seein’ as them’s the ones who make a family point of becoming train robbers. Young Dawson’s a real change-around in the Sygera family, though, him being the only one of them not to set foot in the church, and the only one of them not to run off to become a train robber. Well, that’s a full story there, that oughta be told right straight and true, and young Dawson himself, he will swear to you, he’ll swear on the Bible if you put it in front of him, though it don’t mean much to him, him never having set foot in a church for thirty-five years, and him only being twenty-five himself, he’ll swear to you on the Bible that every word in this here tale concerning himself, every word of it is the truth.

Well, it all happened ‘round ten years ago, when Mayor Evans, that’s Mayor Cliffton Evans, was elected Mayor of Pig’s End. He only won by a nose, they say, seeing as his nose was a Roman one, and his competitor’s nose was only a regular, every-day sort of nose, though I wouldn’t vouch for that myself; I always thought old Franklin’s nose looked more like a tomato with hay fever than like your regular, every-day nose. Anyhow, Mayor Cliffton was elected Mayor, and the first thing he did, just like he’d been promising all along, the first thing he did was to close down the Sygera saddle shop. The Sygeras had been making heaps of money offa their business, because everyone’s saddles kept being stolen, and the Sygeras were the only family in Pig’s End whose saddles hadn’t been stolen.

It happened to me myself, so I can vouch for Christopher’s handiwork, Christopher being the father of the family. My saddle’d been stolen right off my horse while I was taking a drink at the Roaring Pigeon. Well, the tavern just happens to be right next door to the Sygera’s saddle shop, so I popped over to see if Christopher had any saddles to spare, as I didn’t feel like riding “Bumpy Bill” (that’s my horse’s name) all the way back to the ranch without one. Well, I was just ‘bout to open the door when Christopher came up to the window and put out a new display. That saddle looked just like my own, and I thought, just as you thought, that he’d been rascally enough to take it right off my horse’s back. In I went, and I demanded to know if he’d taken the saddle off my horse, and to, by Jimmy, give it back. Christopher looked right shocked, just as I suspected, and he said to me, he said, “Walter, I know you’re a good man, and I’d never have expected it of you to go charging at a poor leatherworker like myself the first time bad luck came to call on you. I’ve been working on this saddle all day, and you can see for yourself it’s brand new. I’ll sell it to you on discount, if you like, but don’t you go accusing me before you know the whole story.”

Well, I went up to that display, and by golly, if it weren’t all shined up and pretty, with a few fancy designs on the side of it and everything. I could see that Christopher was right, and I shook his hand then and there and said I was sorry for accusing him. I got that saddle for only six dollars and ninety-eight cents, when my original saddle was an old junker I’d gotten off of a horse trader for three dollars. Christopher was right nice about the mix-up, too. He even offered to inscribe a ‘P’ into the side, so’s I’d know if it was mine or not in the future, if it ever got stolen again.

I was intending to tell about Dawson, and I will. That Dawson, he’s a real nice young man, a nicer one you’d never find in the whole wide world. He’s got a grin on his face that’d wrap right around him twice without stretching it a mite. He is awful thin, of course, as thin as a bean pole and twice as tall, with hands as big as dinner plates. I never have been able to understand how on earth he can lug those hands around places, when he looks as though you could knock him down with a feather. I’ve seen Christopher knock him down once or twice, but when I asked Dawson about it, he said Christopher’s always thrashing him for some reason or another, and that if it isn’t Christopher, it’s his brother Raymond, so he’s gotten used to it. I personally don’t think one could get used to looking like a raccoon in both eyes, but he’s always grinning, so I suppose Dawson’s gotten used to it.

Anyhow, Dawson was the only person in the Sygera family who voted for Mayor Cliffton that year, and he didn’t care who knew it, which was a good thing since Mrs. Emmie Watsworth obligingly told the whole town. Mrs. Emmie was better advertising for Mayor Cliffton than all his speeches and posters. She said that if anybody didn’t vote for Mayor Cliffton, it was an affront to all good, Christian common sense, and all of Pig’s End was likely to have their very homes stoled out from under their noses by the Sygera pack.

“We ain’t safe with that sly old badger Christopher around!” she used to say, “It’s about time somebody realised that the whole lot of them are no-good, low-down thieves and train robbers!”

Everybody’s fairly used to Mrs. Emmie’s talk. There’s a saying around Pig’s End that if you don’t have Mrs. Emmie talking about you, you must be up to no good. That saying was begun by Christopher himself, after he sold me my new saddle. I don’t say that, personally, but I’m a Pimsbury, and we’ve never been too up-to-date with the latest slang. I’ve never minded Mrs. Emmie myself, ‘cos she’s only ever complained about the Sygeras, and that’s natural, seein’ as they’re her next-door-neighbors.

Well, Dawson was on the train from Pig’s End to Landow when it happened. It was March, and that’s around the time of year most of the Sygera kids head off to ‘work the railway’ as they call it. Dawson told ‘em all that it just weren’t right, and he stuck to his word. So, he was on his way to Landow with one of the Alstron boys to look at a bull the Alstron family was thinking of buying. I don’t recall which of them boys it was that was going with Dawson, there’s so many of them to keep track of, but they had a quiet journey until they reached the Landow station. Dawson was just collecting his coat when four big, masked men jumped aboard. Dawson knew without a doubt that these men were train robbers, and he intended to hand them over to the authorities, just as soon as he had enough evidence. He decided to stay on the train for just one more station, to keep an eye on things, and then he would catch up with his friend after those desperados had been nabbed by the authorities. Well, off goes the Alstron boy, I think it musta been Thomas or Richard, seein’ as they’re the ones who are always takin’ time off of work. Yes, it were Richard after all, I remember now, and it turned out him bein’ on that train was a mistake since his family’d already bought the bull a week before, and his brother Noah was as mad as a hornet in a beehive about the whole affair.

The train started off again, and sure enough, the four men stood up to start taking everybody’s jewellery. Dawson knew enough about train robbers to know that he would need to do some fooling of them before he could hand them over to the sheriff, so he stood up with them, tied a mask around his face, and started demanding money from the passengers at the other end of the car. He told himself that as soon as the train robbers were behind bars, he’d give back everything he’d taken. Well, with Dawson coming down the aisle one way, and the train robbers coming down the other way, it wasn’t long before they all met in the middle.

The leader of the train robbers took one look at Dawson and said, “You look like a bright sort of fellow. What would you say to making some easy cash with us?”

Dawson didn’t hesitate. He knew that he needed to play along with the robbers, so he kept his head up and replied, “I’ll never say no to picking up a little extra here and there. The more the merrier, as they say.”

The leader laughed. “For a beanpole you sure have guts,” he told Dawson. “You can call me ‘Knuckles’ Nedd. This here’s ol’ Three-fingers, Mead Two-eyes, and Barg the Jester. What are you called, stranger?”

“I call myself Jesse Smokes,” Dawson said.

“Well, Jesse, I welcome you to the “Knuckles” gang. Though,” he added, with a wink at his gang, “Perhaps we’d better call it the ‘Smoking Knuckles’. That has a better ring to it.”

Well if that wasn’t exactly the opportunity Dawson was looking for. He was certain that as soon as he got into their confidences, he was going to turn them over to the authorities, and Dawson always keeps his word, he does. So off he goes with the train robbers at the next station, just to keep an eye on ‘em. But he knew that just as soon as the time was right, he was going to hand them desperados over to the authorities.

From then on, the ‘Smoking Knuckles’ gang was a terror to the railway. I know from experience; I was on my way from Pig’s End down to Wintson to visit my cousin’s sister-in-law’s aunt, who wasn’t feeling well. I don’t remember if it ‘twere rheumatics or the plague. I was going down to visit her anyway, since I’d nothing better to do that day. I’d been wondering about young Dawson, since the Alstron boy Richard said Dawson was with him and he’d been missing ever since. Christopher said if he never saw Dawson again it’d be the best thing he’d ever done for him. But I always wondered where the young feller had gotten himself to. As I was sayin’ I was on that train when I met the ‘Smoking Knuckles’ gang. They were a right terror, they were, and I hardly recognized Dawson when I saw him a’comin down the aisle toward me. He’d probably put on about forty pounds of muscle and he looked as much like himself as a sheep looks like a pig. He fell to talkin’ with me for a moment, and I got the whole story. I knew he was a good fellow, and I wanted to help him fooling them train robbers, so I donated him my grand-dad’s old silver pocket watch for the cause, and he promised he’d give it right back as soon as he handed the train robbers into the authorities.

Dawson had his made-up name as part of the name of the band, but he was a law-abiding citizen, and he was determined that when the time was right, he was going to hand them over to the authorities.

After ‘Knuckles’ Nedd retired, and he wasn’t there anymore to tell them train robbers not to, the men were only too glad to pick up the pace, under Dawson’s leadership. They even robbed from other robbers, some of whom were Sygeras. When Dawson came down to Pig’s End to check on things, he stopped by to swap a few yarns with me. ‘The time’s not quite right’, he said to me, ‘but I swear, as soon as I get a good opportunity, I’ll hand them bad boys over to the authorities. Just you wait.’