upwards of two
or three hundred thousand times the known gold supply of the world. When
the _San Benedicto News_ came out in mid-afternoon, it headlined the
first shock of the economic disaster.

World currencies were collapsing; three nations were already bankrupt;
international trade was grinding to a standstill, with no medium of
exchange; retail prices in the United States had started to skyrocket,
in the wake of rising stock market quotations. And still the procession
of dump trucks brought the tons of gold back from the desert. When the
bank overflowed the dry goods store was commandeered as an emergency
depository, and later the Five-and-Ten and the sprawling basement of
Montgomery Ward's.

When the first contingent of National Guardsmen marched into San
Benedicto, it was obviously too small to police the mob. The press
estimated that a quarter of a million people were moving into the valley
every hour. More Guard units were summoned and ultimately, at the
Governor's request, two regiments of the regular army were dispatched to
San Benedicto, along with a Tank Corps and ten thousand Marines from
Camp Pendleton.

It was nightfall before the deputies were relieved. Tired and dirty,
Elvin and Pop Schermerhorn rode back to the ranch on a prospector's
truck. From the lawn they looked across Schermerhorn's ploughed fields
at the desert, teeming with mobs of men and bright in the glare of
countless searchlights. Mrs. Schermerhorn met them on the porch. She
clung to her husband's arms, trembling.

"I'm so glad you're back safely!" she whispered. "They've been moving
closer all day." She nodded toward the desert. "Like ants, trampling and
destroying everything that gets in their way."

Pop Schermerhorn clenched his fists. "If they'd broken in here, I'd
have--"

"If it hadn't been for the twins, I don't know what might have happened.
They got their class over here, the whole tenth grade. All day long
they've been patrolling our fences, without even stopping long enough to
eat. They're all out in the workshop now; they've made it a kind of
headquarters."

* * * * *

The three of them went into the living room. Pop Schermerhorn and Elvin
dropped wearily on a couch, while Mrs. Schermerhorn poured stiff drinks
for both of them. The radio was playing, a smoothly sweet dance
orchestra from San Francisco. But the music faded abruptly, and an
excited newscaster interrupted.

"It's been l