"I guess we do," he agreed.
"All right, then," said Hoffman. "I've built up a sweet little racket here and I don't like fellows butting in."
Meek essayed to down his liquor, succeeded, gasped for breath.
"But I could use a man like you," said Hoffman. "Luke tells me you are handy with the blasters."
"I practice sometimes," Meek admitted.
A smile twitched Hoffman's bearded lips. "We have the town just where we want it. The officials can't do a thing. Scared to. Marshals always eat rock or skip town. Maybe you would like to throw in with us. Not much to do, easy pickings."
"I'm sorry," said Meek, "but I can't do that."
"Listen, Meek," warned Hoffman, "you're either with us or you aren't. We don't like chiselers here. We know what to do with guys who try to muscle in. I don't know who you are or where you come from, but I'm telling you this ... straight. If you don't come in, all right ... but if you stick around after tonight I can't promise you protection."
Meek was silent, mulling the threat.
"You mean," he finally asked, "that you're ordering me out if I don't join your gang?"