The thud of Sam’s fist against the door shook the cabin. Gathered with him were the town’s most upstanding citizens, but you’d never know it tonight. Bert, the schoolteacher; Joselyn, the nurse; even Rev. James, all brandishing clubs in the moonlight.

An elderly man opened the door—just a crack—and let out a whimper when he spied the mob.

“It’s time for our tribute,” announced Sam.

A pause. Then, “I have nothing to give you.”

Sam threw his weight into the door and entered the house, casting the old man aside. His crowd followed, eyes gleaming.

“Do you not love my nephew?” asked Sam with forced civility.

The quivering man huddled on the floor. “I don’t even know your nephew…”

“You will pay tribute for my nephew!” Sam delivered a rough kick to the man’s side. “My nephew needs food! And medicine! And education!”

“Then you pay for those things! What debt do I owe your nephew?”

“This is a democracy.” Uncle Sam grinned. “The people have voted. You will pay your tribute, or suffer the consequences.”