Wading through a flood of mushrooms up to his armpits, Tom switched off the Transmittaton. The cascade stopped.
       Tom and Bud gazed about in dismay. "The quantity-control device still needs to be worked over." The young inventor groaned. "It isn't functioning the way I planned! I expected to reassemble one object, not have it multiply!"
       Bud flicked a mushroom from his shoulder. "You can say that again, genius boy. I'm glad the Transmittaton wasn't zeroed in on a rock canyon. We'd have been buried alive!" Bud exclaimed, then added, "I didn't know this was going to be a two-in-one invention."
       "Neither did I," replied Tom. "Maybe I've stumbled upon something––mass production of almost anything! I'll have to work on that idea as soon as I have time."
       The boys stared at each other a moment. Then the humor of the situation got to them and they burst into gales of laughter.
       Bud wiped the tears from his eyes. "That pelting was faster than a computer can figure!"
       Tom regained his composure. "Bud," he asked, "what are we going to do with all these mushrooms? We can't leave them here cluttering up the lab."
       "Why not eat them, Tom? I'll tell you what. Phone Chow and tell him we have a few leftovers for him up here."
       Chow was enthusiastic. "Leftover mushrooms? They're my specialty of the house, buckaroo! I kin use 'em in my omelets. Think there's enough to go 'round fer a couple o' meals?"
       "I think so, Chow," Tom answered soberly.
       Chow hustled from the kitchen to the lab and opened the door. He stood stock-still, his mouth open, when he saw Tom and Bud armpit deep in mushrooms.
       "Wal, brand my electric skillet!" the Texan gulped. "I sure never saw so many leftovers in all my born days! It'll take more'n a few omelets to use up this batch!"
       When Bud explained what had taken place, Chow phoned an SOS to the main kitchen of Enterprises. "Git up here pronto!" he ordered the cook who answered. "Every last man o' you! An' bring all the boxes you kin lay your hands on! We've got a consignment of a million mushrooms to carry down!"


       "Hold it, Chow!" Tom warned. "I'd better see if they are fit to eat." Quickly testing a few of the fungi for poison or radiation, he proclaimed the results negative. "Safe as mushrooms from the market," he concluded. "They're all yours, Chow."
       Grimly Chow set to work, supervising the men as they packed the boxes with the produce of the Transmittaton. When the last of the mushrooms had been cleared away and the floor swept. the men filed out of the lab. Each carried away a heavy box. Chow stored one in his freezer.
       That noon the main course for lunch in the executive dining room was mushroom omelet with mushroom sauce. The Swift employees each got a side order of grilled mushrooms.
       "Tasty," Bud admitted. "But aren't you going pretty strong for one dish?"
       "You ain't seen nothin' yet," Chow retorted. "You fellers handed me a ton o' mushrooms, an' I aim to show you-all what I kin do with 'em."
       Tom spent the afternoon going over the quantity-control device of the Transmittaton. Bud made a thorough check of the jet bound for Santiago.
       Mr. Swift had already arrived in Chile and was now setting up the underground lab at the Castilla hacienda. He had flown down in the Sky Queen with the necessary equipment.
       Bud came into Tom's lab about four o'clock. "A-OK for the jet," he reported. "We can take off in it whenever you say the word, Tom."
       "We're not taking off in it."
       "How's that again?" Bud looked dumbfounded.
       "Operation Wild-Goose Chase," Tom told him. "We'll trick the Brungarians. Cal Jones and Harry Lawton will fly that jet to Santiago."
       Both pilots were trusted workers at Swift Enterprises.
       "Cal and Harry resemble you and me," Tom said. "Same size and build. From a distance it's hard to tell us apart. So the espionage boys from Brungaria will think Cal and Harry in our jet are you and me."
       "And tail them," Bud added, smiling.
       "Right. You and I and Chow will go on a commercial flight to Santiago and slip in unnoticed while the spies are concentrating on Cal and Harry."
       The two stand-ins made no attempt at secrecy as they boarded the jet at Enterprises about six o'clock that afternoon and took off for Santiago. Bud, Tom, and Chow rendezvoused secretly the next day at a New York City motel and caught a taxi to Kennedy Airport.
       "We'll split up now," Tom declared, "and travel as if we didn't know one another. Here are the tickets. I made sure we have seats in different locations. Keep your eyes and ears open."
       Chow looked dubious as he took his ticket. "In the Panhandle," the Texan protested, "we don't duck varmints. Tom, why don't we have a Western shoot-'em-up showdown with these sidewinders?"
       "You may get that sooner than you think," Bud warned. "I'll bet the Brungarians will be armed when they come looking for us!"
       "Besides," Tom pointed out, "we have to find out how much they know before we move in on them!"
       Carrying suitcases, the three boarded a plane for Santiago. Tom took special care with his bag. The Racodio was inside, and he did not want his valuable language analyzer damaged.
       After an uneventful flight, the plane landed at the Chilean capital. Tom and Chow went to a first-class hotel overlooking Santiago's lively Avenida Bernardo O'Higgins, the city's central boulevard. They registered under assumed names.
       Bud rented a car at the airport. He set out for the Castilla hacienda, admiring the scenery as he drove, but maintaining a good speed. There was no sense wasting time when he had to cover a hundred miles from the capital to the mountains.
       "I hope I can remember the trail Burkart followed," he thought.
       Back in Santiago, Chow went for a walk after dinner. Tom took a sightseeing bus to Santa Lucia Hill rising above the center of the city. While waiting for his and Bud's stand-ins to arrive as prearranged, he strolled around the battlements erected in the sixteenth century by the Spanish founder of Santiago, Pedro de Valdivia.
       Cal Jones and Harry Lawton arrived on schedule. Tom tugged at the lobe of his left ear to signify he wanted to know if Operation Wild-Goose Chase was succeeding.
       Cal took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, opened it out, carefully refolded it, then he replaced it in his pocket.
       "The Brungarians have swallowed the bait," Tom interpreted.
       He did not dare speak to Cal and Harry, but he made a series of slight gestures with his hand. They understood that he was telling them to begin the major phase of the plan, leading their Brungarian pursuers up the Pacific coast of Chile and back to the United States.
       "Will do," Harry messaged by removing his straw hat and carrying it in his hand. He and Cal disappeared down the hill.
       Tom turned to go back to his bus. He had taken only a few steps when a tall, thin man wearing a slouch hat stopped him under a street lamp.
       "Excuse me," the man said in English, "have you got a match?"
       Tom started. The man spoke with a distinct Brungarian accent!
       "I am sorry," Tom said abruptly in Spanish. "I do not understand. You will have to find somebody who speaks your language."
       Tom hurried off, feeling uneasy. "That fellow's height could mean he's the Tall One we've heard mentioned," the young inventor mused. "I wonder if he recognized me."
       Tom kept on the alert to see if the stranger were shadowing him. He got back to the hotel convinced he had not been followed from Santa Lucia Hill.
       Chow was asleep in his room, and Tom went to bed too. That left the third member of the trio still awake––Bud, who by now was bumping through the foothills of the Andes. The glare of his headlights illuminated flowers, trees, and fertile fields with neat farmhouses.
       "This doesn't look familiar," he muttered to himself after a while. Driving on, he eventually realized he had taken a wrong turn and was lost in the mountains.
       His motor coughed, sputtered, and went dead. "Out of gas!" he groaned. "But I came a good distance in the right direction. The hacienda might not be too far from here."
       He examined the map and decided he could cut through the woods to Castilla's home. After a couple of miles, his flashlight gave out, leaving him to feel his way among the trees and up a hill where a huge pointed rock at the summit stood outlined against the sky.
       Bud trudged upward, hoping he could see the hacienda when he reached the top.
       A harsh growl stopped him. He smelled a strong animal-like odor. The hair rose on the nape of his neck at the thought of a savage beast, a bear or a cougar, behind the rock.
       A huge man-like figure, covered with white shaggy hair, stepped from the shadow of the rock directly into his path. Bud hardly had time to wonder whether this was the legendary snowman, when with a snarl the creature started toward him!