Elijah of Buxton by Christopher Paul Curtis

Author:Christopher Paul Curtis
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780545281195
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

One of my favouritest chores is going to Chatham to check on the mail. It’s not something that happens regular ’cause we have our own post office here in Buxton, but every once in the while the mail won’t come for two or three weeks and someone’s got to go find out why. It’s one of my favouritest chores, but that’s only true if I’m allowed to take Old Flapjack ’stead of one of the saddle horses. Even when those horses are walking slow they’re still too fast for my taste.

On Wednesday, right after school, Pa told me to go straight to Chatham for the mail. He didn’t come right out and say to take a horse, so when I got to the stable I asked Mr. Segee for Old Flapjack. I knowed it waren’t right, but it didn’t seem like it was wrong neither, it was kind of middling twixt the two.

Me and Old Flapjack waren’t but two miles out of Buxton going slow and easy toward Chatham when I started wishing I shied away from the wrong and gone more to the right. Old Flap gave one n’em snorts that let me know he sensed something dangerous. He even kicked his front heels off the ground ’stead of his rear ones, something I didn’t know he could do!

I grabbed ahold of his mane and looked hard at the woods.

I couldn’t see nothing at first. Maybe Old Flap had smelt something wrong. Then, for the second time, he did the trick he’d just learnt. The first time was practice, now he was better at it. He throwed his front heels up so high that I slid right off his haunches. Me and my tote sack and the empty mailbag spilt out onto the road!

I didn’t hurt nothing, but soon’s I jumped back up, Flapjack did another trick I hadn’t never seen him do afore. He started running! It was real stiff-legged and clumsity-looking, but no other word but running would come to mind.

Ain’t nothing in the world more disturbing than watching your mule, who you thought was one of your best friends, try to gallop away after dumping you in the road so’s you could get et by whatever it was that got him so afeared.

I grabbed my tote sack and pulled three chunking stones out. I turned to the woods ready to throw. But waren’t nothing there. Whatever scared Old Flapjack must’ve took off soon’s I hit the dirt.

I looked a little farther down the road and saw Old Flapjack had decided he waren’t too fond of running. He’d quit and gone over in a field to chew on something. I ran to him, gentled him down some, then climbed back on top. We started back toward Chatham.

But this was a trip that waren’t meant to be. ’Twaren’t but five minutes later that Mr. Polite came out of the woods holding on to the necks of three pheasants and a shotgun.

“Afternoon, Mr. Polite.”

“Afternoon, Elijah. Where ’bouts you heading?”

“I’m going to Chatham.

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