AS HAPPENS with the frightened and unprepared, we scattered. Some of us would be caught. Some of us would be killed. Probably some of us would go crawling back. Sadie, Lizzie and I made it north to a town we were told was in Iowa. Morris and Buck remained with us. The white people didn’t seem happy to see us, but there was a war on. It had something to do with us. The local sheriff met us in the street and regarded us suspiciously. “Runaways?” he asked. “We are,” I said. “Any of you named Nigger Jim?” I pointed to each of us. “Sadie, Lizzie, Morris, Buck.” “And who are you?” “I am James.”
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