“Yes Sir,” I lied.“Oh good, I was worried we might have been too tame for you last night,” he smirked. I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or joking. “We’ve got breakfast over here for you, crawl.”He turned and walked toward the picnic table. Aunt Evil was sitting with her tits hanging out on the picnic table and smoking. I crawled across the grass, feeling every bit of gravel in my knees. I was still tied up, so I probably slithered without the use of my hands, dragging my tits, and using my knees mostly to propel myself forward.“We just have some of last night’s left-overs for you, I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he pointed to a spot at his wife’s feet. He pushed a 12-ounce bottle full of dirty water into my asshole and called it a “Hillbilly Enema.”“Got some green beans, Georgia Mustard Barbecue, a little cornbread,” he smiled down at me.“That’s okay, I am used to table scraps, Sir.”I was thankful that Master had prepared me to basically be a garbage disposal to eat whatever. Joe reloaded his pistol before going for the marshal, whom he found at the first saloon he entered. The marshal came with him to the barber shop and agreed that the shooting was justified. George went for the undertaker while Joe talked to the marshal. Joe finally got his shave, but he could tell that George was still a little nervous from the incident. Joe finally got his chance to look at the ledger, told George that he was doing a good job, and left to return home. It was too late to go anywhere else that day.Joe discussed the incident with me over supper, and we agreed to tell the agents to do whatever the robber asked. A few hundred dollars was not worth getting killed over. They were to let us be responsible for tracking down the bandit and recovering the money. We thought that we would try an experiment by having the agent keep no more than $50 in cash on hand under normal circumstances; the rest should be deposited in the local bank. It was a little less convenient, but more.
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