The Adventures of Sollsberry Stake
by Pat Cheeks 

It wus’n nigh on 4 of the clock when I seen Rush Steamshed, mah ol mate. Rush is’n a first-rate buddy, real true, too. He’sn the kinder feller what would punch ‘is own head ‘fore he’d a punch you. You know the kind—real stupid.

Rush wus’n playin on bein cowboys an injuns, but he’sn all lonesome goin ‘bout it cuz’n it wuz only him. He ast me if’n I wanted to play with ‘im, but I sed I wus’n too busy huntin up treasure.

“Why’sn you doin that, Sol?”

“Why, so’s I kin bury it all over agin.”

“Bury it?” he went a-repeatin’.

“Lawd yes!” I declared. “Cuz’n I’m a-playin pirates. That’s what pirates do, Rush.”

“Why bugger me stupid,” sez Rush. “I ain’t ever heard o’ such a thing. I thought pirates wus’n all into rapin an pillagin.”

“I reck’n we could do that, too, if’n we wants. But mostly I’m a-buryin treasure. That ways the pirates who what originally buried the treasure kin’t find it agin.”

Rush was mighty intrigued by all o’ this, an he wanted to play pirates with me for a while. I sed he was a big queer an liked me like a girl likes a boy instead o’ how a boy is supposed to like a boy, an it hurt his feelins. Which just prove’n my point.

After’n a while we got all tarred out playin pirates an decided we wus’n goin t’sit down an smoke some tobacker. I stole’n some tobacker from mah pa early that week, he wus’n tryin to quit by goin on the patch, so he wunt miss it. Goin on the patch requires goin down to a thorn patch when ever’n you gets the urge t’smoke an roll’n aroun for a hal’ an hour or so. I knowed it, smoking is bad habit-formin.

We tried t’smoke big tobacker jist like mah pa an Rush’z Aunt Lou an neither of us was none good at it. There’n we decided we wus’n goin t’kick the habit e’en ‘fore it could start up. It made us awful sick right out.

Strollin down where the river wuz up on the shore, we spied a ol’ wooden raft jist a-floatin its way down the waters. On it we saw Bill, a mighty nice black boy who wus’n our age, an lived up yonder on the ol’ Wigworth estate. We waved all frantic like an jumped an hollered like we wuz mad with scarlet fever ‘til he spotted us an started t’wave back. He swam his raft on over to the shore an we met up with ‘im an ast where he wuz goin.

“Lawd, I’m a-goin on’y place I kin go. Up north. I’m a slave done run away. You int’rest in helpin me run off?”

Rush sed out right he don’t know, he need t’sit down an think on it a while. But I wuz right happy to help. I done thought ‘bout it long time before, ‘bout what it’s like to the property of’n someone else. Bein forced to help do they chores an all the stuff they’ren too lazy to do jist cuz your skin ain’t white. I may not know Heaven or Hell or nothin like that, but I knowed what’s right an wrong here on the earth.

“Sure, I’ll help you, Bill,” I told him. “I’ve always thought you wus’n a mighty good ni—”

Well, I reck’n I didn’t get much farther than that when Bill done whomped me on the head an started hittin on m’mouth, got it all bloodied up. Heck if I knewed it, but apparently it ain’t okay to use that word no longer in 2003.

For more of this great story, buy Pat Cheeks’
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