Great tribelashuns, chilluns,
Hard trials,
I’m gwine ter leab dis wurl’.
“But bless you, honey, he wus jes’ playin’ on dem yudder quarters; he commenced ter pace now. He got right down on de groun’, an’ dough he didn’t make no fuss an’ you cudn’t see er moshun, nur eben de spokes ob de sulky, he talked lak er dyin’ muther to her wayward boy. He scorned de track ob dis wurl an’ seemed ter be pacin’ in de pure air ob God, an’ yit he didn’t rouse er angry wind, nur bring out de loud shouts frum de wurldly gran’ stan’, nur de hoozars of victory, nur de wild frenzy ob delight—but des tears, sweet tears. I cried lak er baby. I furgot ter time ’im. De sof’ light cum in frum de winder ob God an’ got inter de winder ob de ole man’s hart. De smell ob de yearthly flowers wus turned to heabenly ones, an’ when his sof’, ’pealin’ voice died away an’ de sweet, ’pealin’ music commenced, I cudn’t tell whar de sermin ended an’ de music begun, dey run togedder so. I sot in er sort ob er dream; I wanted ter go ter heaben; I heerd de white folks all pass quietly out; I heerd de notes ob de organ die erway, but I sot in de cornder, way off by mysef, an’ thanked God dat I’d seed de light an’ heerd de recurd ob salvation busted.”
THE QUEST OF POAQUITA
By Horatio Lankford King
“Traditions?” repeated Buck Eye Pete with inimitable scorn, as he deftly balanced a battered coffee pot over the camp fire, “them was once the bane an’ joy o’ my life. I fair radiated with dreams o’ romance, hidden treasure, an’ sich like. Why, there was a pre-historic time in my credulous natur when I was looney on Pirate Morgan an’ babbled o’ Montezuma’s sarcophagus o’ buried valuables an’ heagern wives with unholy an’ covetious eye. An’ that’s what sent me an’ Chinook Bill on that foolhardy adventcher into darkest Sonora in the quest o’ the fabled city o’ Poaquita.”
Buck Eye Pete went back to his seat beyond the hot glare of the camp fire, puffed tentatively at a villainous looking pipe and gazed mournfully and with lack-lustre eye into the surrounding wall of darkness. Then, seeing no objection, he continued:
“An’ if this hyere august body votes a majority I’ll be the wag es wags a tale, es Shakespeare said.”
We settled ourselves in divers comfortable positions and nodded a unanimous consent.