Mr. Meek—Musketeer

by Clifford D. Simak

"Jiggle him some," Meek told the Prowler. The Prowler jiggled him and Hoffman bawled and clawed at empty air.

"Damn you," shrieked Hoffman, "get out into the street. All of you. Just like he said."

No one stirred.

"Blaine," yelled Hoffman. "Get out there! You, too Smithers. Loomis. Blake!"

They came slowly, shame-faced. At a command from Meek they unholstered their blasters and heaved them in a pile.

The Prowler deposited Hoffman with them.

Meek saw Andrew Smith standing at the edge of the sidewalk and nodded to him. "There you are, Mr. Smith. Rounded up, just like you wanted them."

"Neat," said Stiffy, "but not gaudy."

Slowly, carefully, bones aching, Meek slid from the Prowler's back, was surprised his legs would hold him up.

"Come in and have a drink," yelled a dozen voices all at once.