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off a chattering burst, and then disappear.
    Smitty glanced around the late afternoon desert. He didn’t see the Avenger anywhere.
    Another burst of machine-gun slugs spurted overhead.
    The giant waited a second, stood up, fired two shots in the direction of the gunman, and dropped down again. Not with any expectation of hitting his man, but to provide a diversion. Benson was obviously up to something.
    Silently, covered by the spills of afternoon shadow between the boulders, the Avenger was working his way toward their attackers.
    He reached the bare stretch of ground between the two clusters of huge rocks. Three tall cactus trees grew across the empty space, about ten feet apart.
    The machine gunner—it was the man we met as Moron—bobbed up once again to send another chain of slugs smashing toward what he believed to be the position of the three Justice, Inc., teammates.
    Benson, unseen in the shadows, waited until Moron had hunched down out of sight again. Then he sprinted for the nearest tall cactus.
    It was man-high, looking like an abstract sculpture constructed from prickly plumbing. The Avenger got to it undetected. He stood there, back against stickers, eyes narrow and watchful.
    There were two other men with the gunner. He could see parts of them now as they crouched behind the boulders. A fat, profusely perspiring man clutching a .38 revolver, and a sad-faced middle-aged man with a rifle on the rocks before him.
    The Avenger darted again, to the second cactus.
    “Down there!” shouted fat Heinz. “I saw something, Moron. Quick!”
    The Avenger’s hand made a looping arc.
    A pellet flashed through the bright air.
    “Look out!” warned Trumbull, feet rasping on the stones as he tried to scurry back.
    Too late. The pellet smashed, and blackness engulfed the three men.
    The Avenger charged into the blackness.

    “Would you care to change your guess and bet on twins?” asked Cole.
    “You apparently,” replied Nellie, “can make a joke about anything.”
    “That’s not a joke, princess, it is merely a sporting proposition.” He had an elbow resting on the open window of their rented car and was guiding the machine through the desert with one hand on the wheel. “But, yes, I imagine I could come up with a suitable quip for almost any occasion. Life, being noted for its unfortunate brevity, isn’t worth being too sober-sided about.”
    “I’m not sober-sided,” said the pretty little blonde, folding her arms. “I just think when one of our friends is having a baby you ought to—”
    “This is very illuminating, Little Nell,” grinned Cole. “You have a sentimental side, I never would have guessed.”
    “I don’t have . . . Oh, nerts! There’s no use arguing with you.”
    In the ensuing silence Cole commenced whistling a medley of the number one, two, and three songs from that week’s Hit Parade list.
    After a moment Nellie said, “Must you do that?”
    “Would you rather I gathered grain for the hard winter ahead?”
    Nellie took a deep breath and slapped her hands flat on her thighs. “I’m . . . not . . . going to . . . get angry with you,” she said. “No, I am going to remain calm. After all, as you point out, life is short. Now and then fate throws one into the company of someone who is basically loathsome. The answer is, grin and bear it.”
    “That’s the spirit, pixie. Learn to endure and . . . ah, there’s a likely looking spot. The Oasis.” He nodded at the resort that loomed up ahead of them.
    “Looks expensive.”
    “You forget that I’m an executive, a tycoon, practically, and you’re my highly efficient private secretary,” said Cole. “We can afford the poshest of digs.”
    “If I’m so efficient, why didn’t I make us advance reservations?”
    “Haste. I’m the sort of tycoon who does things with head-spinning swiftness. There was no time to make advance reservations,” Cole said. Making a lazy arm signal, he turned off the road and into the resort