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and little girls than men slaves. He didn’t need many clues as to why they were suddenly running free. Looking down at the dead overseer, it was clear.
    Moving further onto the plantation, he found another dead overseer – and further on, two closer together, dead… holes in the back and one to the neck. He finally reached the cabins to find an overseer with his throat slit - in the midst of it, slaves were running off – once more, women and a few men.
    Trotting towards the big house, he was close to the mansion when the blood curdling screams finally reached his ears. He rushed in that direction – meeting more slaves again who stopped and stared in fear for him to finally speak to them, “Run – go – I mean you no harm.” They took off once more, needing nothing more to be said.
    Finally, quietly, Broc crept forward to the far side of the big house where he hid back to finally watch her in action.
    Master Gareth was tied, butt naked around the base of a handsome weeping willow.
    All who lived there knew, that it was the same weeping willow he’d tied many men and some women to – to whip them.
     

The tree had a long notch or deep groove hacked high into it like an upside down smile. That smile was worn smooth now, from the many times that a rope had been tied around the wrists of slaves and then pulled around the tree tight and knotted to hook onto that groove. The tension of it making the slaves hang by their wrists while being whipped. Their feet would be tied and the rope pulled snug around the base to the other side into a similar low groove hacked into the tree looking like a smile. All the slaves knew it to be true that Master Gareth would always say, if you were going to have a weeping willow in the yard, it should be used to cause some weeping.
    With him as the master there, it had known a much weeping and screams of agony. That was an inside joke between him and his overseers. He had a way of saying, while smiling, “…seems to me, that weeping willow needs a treatment – otherwise it don’t grow lessen it gots a body to hug it and weep.”
    That’s what Asiza remembered him always saying.
    That day, Master Gareth was hugging his weeping willow, shouting, crying, screaming and weeping his eyes out.
    It appeared this time, the joke was on him.
    “Where my mama at! I swear fo’God I strip eva bit o’yo’hide from you – you don’t tell me!” She growled through tightly clenched teeth. Asiza was in tears, one of the girls from the house said her mama was gone, sold and so was Suga. Hearing that made her crazy – and before letting the slaves run off, she had them strap Master Gareth to his favorite tree.
    Sobbing, slob running from the corner of his mouth, drooling into the grooves of the bark on the tree, Master Gareth begged for his life. From between his wide spread legs, he pee’d down the tree and plead for his torture to end, swearing from his soul, “I DON’T KNOOOOW - please – please – I swear fo’God, I don’t know where – where she at. I he’p ya’find’ha – I swear fo’God, I he’p ya’find’ha… please – please – AI-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-IH …” he screamed in agony as the whip slashed across his naked backside this time. Altogether, that would be fifteen slashes – cutting, burning and leaving him bleeding fire once more.
    “You thank I trus’a word you say? You evil – wicked man! You sell m’mama?” Asiza sobbed, tears rolling down her face.
     

“You sell my Lil’Suga… you gone die! But slow… real slow! I ain’t got nothin’ lef’ta live fo’ an’ got no reason to’keep you living. Yessa masta’, you gone die – but you gone suffa’ firs’ – lawd you gone suffa’…”
    “Asiza! No more… stop!”
    Hearing her name come from foreign lips, carried to her on a deep voice, stunned her, broke through her blaze of fury. Lowering the whip she turned to see of all people – the big man from the lake, staring at her. Right there –