Every year on the Saturday closest to April 1, storytellers gather in Borrego Springs to compete in the Peg Leg Smith Liars Contest. The contest is held in memory, if not quite in honor, of Smith who wandered in one day from the desert with a pocket full of black rocks. As the story goes, when the black coating was scraped away with a knife, the rocks were revealed to be pure gold. "Lots more where these came from," claimed Smith who's reputed to have spent his remaining days roaming the desert in search of the lode he never again located.

The Devil and Peg Leg Smith

Phil Brigandi's story of how Peg Leg Smith outsmarted the Devil, told last week at the Peg Leg Smith Liars Contest, was mighty special. For all of you who missed last Saturday's event, here's the tale retold:

One day the Devil came along intending to claim the soul of Peg Leg Smith. Ol' Peg Leg slipped out easily from under the Devil's charges of imbibing and horse thieving (What?! Ain't you never been to Utah? I tell you, I was a-helping them horses by getting them out of there!), but he had a tougher time evading the label of "Prevaricator."

"What's that mean?" asked Smith.

"Bull sh___er," the Devil said. "You know, folks have died looking for that gold mine you claim to have found."

Well, them was serious charges, and ol' Peg Leg saw right off there was only one way out of this predicament. "That gold mine was for real," he tells the Devil, "and if you don't believe me, why I'll take you there myself."

Now the Devil he gets to thinking about how operating costs are high down under. And the place just don't attract the kind of investment capital that, say, a computer business does. "Alright," he tells Peg Leg, "it's a deal."

That first night found them in Coyote Canyon. "Would you be so kind?" asks Peg Leg.

"But of course," says the Devil, touching off the campfire.

As they sat there together smoking (Peg Leg smoking his pipe, the Devil just plain smoking), Peg Leg asks how he likes the desert. "Not bad," says the Devil. "lots of water; it's pretty nice."

Next day, Peg Leg led the Devil down into Borrego Valley. Winding his route this way and that, wandering around maybe a little more than was strictly necessary, Peg Leg came out to the second night's camp with the Devil a good 45 minutes behind. As he pulls up puffing and steaming, Peg Leg asks him, "Well, what do you think of the desert now?"

"I've seen worse," says the Devil, as he plops down and falls asleep without bothering to light the evening's campfire. That don't bother ol' Peg Leg none. He just sets his skillet onto the Devil's back and cooks his supper right there directly on the Burner.

Third day, Peg Leg had the Devil trudging around down in the Borrego Badlands. Up and down every wash. Peg Leg would wait till the Devil was all the way up to the top of each wash, then send him back down again: "Nope, cain't git through that way."

By the time Peg Leg set up camp at Seventeen Palms, the Devil was lagging so far behind it took him two hours to catch up. So Peg Leg rested a little, had a drink, sat in the shade, waited for the Devil to arrive.

Finally, the Devil comes panting up to where Peg Leg is sitting. "Give me some water," he says.

"Nope," says Peg Leg, "first we talk. What do you think of the desert now?"

"This is a hell of a country!" says the Devil.

"Well think about this," says Peg Leg. You've only been here three days. I've been here thirty years."

"Hmm, I see what you mean," says the Devil. "You're right, I can't send you twice." And with that, he vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Peg Leg alone with his mule.

"Well Rosie," says Peg Leg to the mule, "looks like we outsmarted that fella." As he set about fixing supper, sunset was spilling over the hills of the badlands, and purple shadows were creeping along the washes. Once again he turned to his mule. "Y'know, Rosie," he says, "when we finally do make it to heaven, I'll betcha it's gonna be just like this."

Robin Hewitt, 1989