--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Spring, Everett collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 22 number: 8 published: 1919-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Spring, Everett, "How Squire Pygus Got Even," *Improvement Era* 22, no. 8 (June 1919): 673–677.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2208unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2208unse start_page: 673 end_page: 677 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1919-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2208unse publication_year: 1919 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1919, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # How Squire Pygus Got Even HOW SQUIRE PYGUS GOT EVEN 675 "Henry," he said as the clerk appeared in the doorway, "I shall be detained here some time with Mr. Pygus, so you needn't wait. Good night. Now Squire," he went on, turning to Pygus, as the door of the outer office slammed and the sound of footsteps died away down the corridor. "I've come to talk business," Pygus repeated. He paused and chewed furiously for a time in meditative silence. "Oil business," he at length said pointedly. * Sanderson's face clouded. "And what about the oil business, Squire?" he asked, a trifle impatiently. "What are you willin' to pay for stock in the Pennsylvania Oil Company just now?" Pygus asked. Sanderson's smile was one of patient condescension. "The fact is, Squire, the Pennsylvania didn't turn out just as we expected," he explained. "All around us the wells are making all kinds of money, but somehow or other our holdings are as dry as sawdust." Squire Pygus fixed his eyes doubtfully on the brass cuspidor at his feet. "Look ahere, Jim," he said, "you must be drove pretty hard when you take to skinnin' your own townfolks." The other's face hardened. "Those are pretty bald words you're using, Judge," he said, drawing himself up in his chair and fixing his eyes on the man opposite. "I know it, Jim," Pygus declared regretfully, "but I weighed 'em before I said 'em, an', take it by an' large, they represent about the sum total of it. Us folks at the Lower Corners ain't so all-fired green that we're bitin' at every get-rich-quick scheme that comes out in the papers, but when we got them prospectuses an' circulars you sent us it was different. You was born an' raised there —a Sanderson of the Lower Corners, an' none of us never knew of a Sanderson goin' back on his word. Naturally, we thought that, comin' from you, we was gettin' it' straight." In the Squire's tone there was more of sorrow than anger. He lifted his eyes and looked searchingly at Sanderson, who twisted uneasily in his chair. — "See here," the latter burst out hotly and he was plainly — on the defensive now "I'm telling you the truth, Squire, when I say I thought we'd hit the bull's eye with that oil-land. I wanted to let you people in on the ground floor. Don't I know the Lower Corners, and don't I know how hard the money comes there? I couldn't make that land pump oil if there wasn't any there." He paused. The Squire's eyes were still on him, their steadfast disapproval causing him extreme discomfort. "But I'll tell you what I'll do for you, Squire, if you'll say '>7<> IMPROVEMENT ERA nothing abonl it," he went on hurriedly. "If you'll tell me just what you out into it, for oh! Hake's sake, I'll make you out a check for the amount." A flash of fire leaped to the Squire's eyes. He brought down one huge li.-t with a hang on the corner of the desk. "You don't think that's what I come down here for, do ye?" he roared. "I should o' thought you'd known me better than that* Jim Sanderson. I ain't say in' nothin' how I got bit. What I put in I could afford to lose an' count it money gone for experi- ence. But the part that gets me is what the others done —old Miss Watson drawin' her money out of the savin's bank, an' Uncle Benjamin Hopkins mortgagin' his place, to git money to put into — your scheme, an' dozens of others just like 'em all of 'em doin' it because they know'd you were a Sanderson." "Good Lord," cried Sanderson. "You don't expect me to make good to all those people, who took their chances just as I did, do you?" , "I ain't askin' you to," said Pygus flatly. "Then what is it you want me to do?" "I came down here today with a fixed purpose in my mind," said Pygus, lapsing once more into a drawl. He hooked the brass cuspidor toward him with his foot and spat into it reflectively. "A good many years ago, Jim, when you an' I was boys, I traded you an A-l first class fiddle for a watch that you said was all right. Now, if you remember, that watch was sort of misrepresented. The mainspring was broke, an' both of the hands were loose." He paused. Sanderson gravely nodded his head. "I want you to think a minute, Jim," Pygus went on, "an' ^ see'f you can't remember what I done to you when I found out what shape that watch was in." Sanderson chuckled shamefacedly. "As near as I can remember, Squire," said he, "you gave me the all-firedest drubbing I ever had in my life." "Right you are, sonny," Pygus exclaimed. He arose, and his gaunt old frame towered beside the desk. "Now, doin' it again, I'm perfectly aware, won't bring back the money that you've skinned out of the folks at the Lower Corners, but all the same I'm goin' to do it, jest to let you know that you can't cheat folks now any more than you could then an' git off free." He pulled off his coat and vest and tossed them into a corner. "Jim Sanderson," he thundered, "stand up. Stand up, I tell yer, an' don't sit there with your mouth open like that, for by the hvin' fishes, I'm goin' to do jest as I say." Slowly a sickly, incredulous grin spread over Sanderson's tace. He pushed back his chair, but made no motion to rise HOW SQUIRE PYGUS GOT EVEN 677 "What are you talking about, you crack-brained old idiot?" he demanded thickly. "Git out of that chair an' stand up," Pygus repeated, and as Sanderson gave no sign of complying, a huge paw descended on his collar and he was yanked roughly to his feet. "Take off your coat," yelled his assailant, and, without waiting for compliance this time, he ripped off Sanderson's coat and flung it into a corner. "Put up your fists, d'yer hear? Put 'em up." Instintcively his fists went up as Pygus rushed him. "That one's for poor old Miss Watson," the latter grunted, as he landed a blow on Sanderson's cheek that sent him reeling into a corner. "An' that one's for Uncle Benjamin Hopkins," he shouted triumphantly, as Sanderson, gasping for breath, rushed toward him only to be floored by another heavy blow full on the point of the jaw. When Squire Pygus alighted from the train, next evening, the bevy of loafers on the truck nearly fell over in their amazement. For a man with the reputation of being the quietest, most peaceful citizen of the town, he was indeed a strange figure. His face was liberally adorned with adhesive plaster, his nose was swollen to nearly double its normal size, one badly blackened eye was almost closed; yet, withal, there was about him a subtle air of triumph. "Seems to me," said one of the bevy from the baggagetruck, cautiously edging up to him, "that you didn't stay idown to the city a great while, Squire, an' judgin' from your looks, I shouldn't say you'd had a fust-class time." Squire Pygus scrutinized him calmly with his undamaged eye. "I guess I got my money's wuth," he observed sententionsly. Washington, D. C. Traveling Over Forgotten Trails liv Hon. Anthony W. Ivins 3. Timpe-nam-pats (Stone Foot) and His Pledge of Vengeance time in In November, 1866, Erastus Snow, who was at that a circharge of the pioneer settlements in southern Utah, sent cular letter to the settlers at Long Valley, Kanab, and the scattering ranches in the district east from the Rio Virgen settle- ments, as far as the Pah-reah. In this letter he warned the people to congregate at either Kanab or Long Valley, or at both places, where they were in- structed to construct stockade forts, at each of which a force of not less than twenty well armed men were to be main- tained for protection against hostile Indians. Had these instructions been carried out, much loss of life and property might have been avoided, for it was only two months later that J. M. Whit- more and Robert Mclntyre were killed by Navajos, at Pipe Springs, where the former had established a ranch, as related in a previous issue of the Era. Soon after the killing of Whitmore and Mclntyre, James Andrus was placed in command of a detachment of mounted with orders to follow militia, Navajo Indian the trail of the marauders into the Indian country as far as the Colorado river, but under no circumstances was he to cross the Calorado into the Navajo country. Another purpose of the expedition was to rescue Peter Shirts who, when last heard from, was at his ranch, on the Pah-reah, near Lee's Ferry, and TRAVELING OVER FORGOTTEN TRAILS 679 not far from the trail traveled by the Indians in their raiding excursions. If alive, Shirts was to be brought back to the settlements ; if he had been killed, the stock, if any remained, were to be gathered and brought in. When the Pah-reah was reached, it was found that Shirts had not been molested, although some of his stock had been driven away. The expedition proceeded to the Colorado, where it was discovered that the Indians had crossed the river to their Typical Indian and Hogan From this point the return march to the settleown country. men W were crossing the Kaibab As Ca PTaTnTndts and his men or Flat Top Mountain) Mountain ^Mountain that Lies Down, Timpe-nam-pats (Stone Foot) and his band of hey encountered ensued, a number of In- KaTbab Indians. In the fight which This so enraged dians were killed, and several made prisoners 5 Timpe that he swore vengeance, relentless warfare and pledged his two sons to against the whites, because of what he