At the last moment Tom released the carrier and dived below the surface. The churning of the motorboat over his head was blinding and frightening.
       "That was a planned hit-and-run accident," he thought, "only I didn't get hit."
       Kicking back to the surface, Tom was dismayed to see the craft racing off with the galaxy ghost on board. He could see Tokatyan and the Stasha brothers chortling with glee.
       Tom began to swim to shore. Halfway there he met Bud coming toward him. Bud explained he had seen the three Brungarians board their motorboat from the rowboat and head for the spot where Tom and the ghost had hit the water.
       "They escaped with the carrier," Tom said as he and Bud, puffing, reached the sand. "How's Voss doing?"
       Bud pointed to the tanned, hatchet-faced man seated on one of the rocks, shaking from an attack of nerves. When he calmed down, Voss confessed he was completely disenchanted with the Brungarians.
       "Even if they don't believe you, they shouldn't take the chance of causing a catastrophe on earth," he insisted.
       "Have you any idea where their lab is located in Tierra del Fuego?" Tom asked.
       "Yes, I've been there. The one-story building belonged to a gold miner who died many years ago. It's about ten miles south of Sombrero."
       "Sombrero is where the big Chilean oil strikes were made," Tom commented.
       Voss nodded. "You keep going until you see low, rounded twin hills beyond a mass of scrub vegetation. The Brungarian lab is on the side of the east hill in a clump of tall calafate bush near an old Indian trail. You can land on a level spot two miles away."
       "When will Tokatyan and the Stashas be there?" Bud inquired.
       "They're flying down in a private plane as soon as they get to the airport. You can follow them," Voss added, "but I'm getting out. By now, those three have alerted the Brungarian Consulate in Valpo by radio. A hired assassin may be on my trail. I'm on my way home––to Australia!"
       Tom and Bud hurried with Voss to his house. Their host threw a few things into a suitcase and made sure his passport was in order.
       The boys changed into dry clothes Voss was leaving behind. "Not a bad fit," Bud remarked. "Our friend from Down Under's just about our size."
       They started for the Valparaiso airport with Tom at the wheel of Voss's car because the Australian was too unnerved to drive.
       "Pretty lonely stretch of road," Tom said when they had gone a couple of miles.
       "The lights of only one other car are visible," Bud commented. "That one down the pike headed toward us."
       The other car was traveling at high speed. "He's driving in the middle of the road," Tom muttered.
       "He's going to force us off the road!" Voss gasped hysterically.
       "And all we have is a steep sandbank on the right-hand side!" said Bud.
       Fifty yards from them the other driver cut to the left at a sharp angle.
       Tom stepped on the gas, spun the wheel sharp right, then sharp left, and gritted his teeth as he curved along the edge of the sandbank. The oncoming car careened past the rear bumper with inches to spare!
       A horrified look appeared on Bud's face as he looked back. The other driver had lost control of his vehicle. It plunged over the edge and came to rest upside down on a sand dune, its four wheels spinning wildly.
       "Any survivors?" Tom gulped.
       "It's too dark to see," Bud answered.
       "Another car has stopped up the road and four men are getting out to investigate. They may be confederates. Anyway, they can handle the rescue operations without us."
       Tom sped on to the airport. He and Bud reported the accident to the police, then they escorted Voss, pale and trembling, aboard a jet plane bound for Australia.
       "Give our regards tot he kangaroos and the koala bears," Bud quipped.
       "Let us know if you strike gold in the Outback," Tom said with a grin.
       Voss smiled. He was beginning to feel better already. "I'm headed for Sydney, my old hometown. I intend to lie on the beach and forget I ever heard of Brungaria."
       The boys waited to see the jet safely in the air. Then Tom and Bud took off in their own plane for the long trip south to Tierra Del fuego at the southern tip of South America. Their flight plan took them along the Pacific coast in bright moonlight.
       "What fascinating geography Chile has," Bud said.
       "Nothing else like it in the world, Bud. You're looking at a land more than twenty-six hundred miles long, and yet only one hundred ten miles wide on an average. No wonder Chile has subtropical climate in the north, while it's frigid in the south."
       "I've read that Chilean industries run from steelmaking to sheep farming," Bud remarked.
       "There's Chilean steel right now, Bud." Tom pointed to the blazing open-hearth furnaces of the great Huachipato steelworks near Concepción. "You'll find the sheep when we reach the south."
       A little later the boys saw hundreds of tiny lights scattered along several dark waterways. As Bud turned the aircraft inland, he commented:
       "We're passing over Valdivia. That means Chile's famous Lake District is nearby. We may as well take a look at it."
       "We already have Mount Osorno in view," said Tom. He was referring to the snow-capped volcano rising above Lake Todos los Santos. "No wonder travelers compare Osorno to Japan's Mount Fujiyama. They're both symmetrical cones."
       The plane flashed over the shimmering moonlit water and across the towering top of the crater. Tom and Bud saw a broad range of forest underneath their wings. They flew on to the heavily indented Pacific shoreline of southern Chile.
       The magnificence of the scenery below was breath-taking. Jagged peaks pushed high into the air. Remnants of glaciers hung from the cliffs.
       "The Torres del Paine," Bud marveled. "What a sight from the air!"
       "Don't get excited and lose control of the plane, pal," Tom commented. "You'd find a forced landing down there a trifle tricky."
       "Don't say that even in fun," Bud protested in mock horror. "It would be a crash landing with the accent on 'crash.' I'll stay upstairs, thank you."
       The Torres del Paine disappeared behind them. "We're over Magallanes," Tom noted.
       "That's the province on the lower tip of Chile," Bud remarked. "Those must be the lights of Punta Arenas up ahead––the southernmost town on the South American mainland."
       The land below showed a pattern of rounded gray rocks with broad pastures in between. Big estancias, sheep ranches, proclaimed Magallanes to be good grazing country. Flocks by the thousands could be seen on the hillsides.
       The moonlight shone on farmhouses, warehouses, and shearing sheds. The broken coastline permitted the sea to push inland and form long, deep fjords.
       "Punta Arenas, capital of the province," Bud went on. "The lights are bright. Looks like a nice city."
       There was a broad inlet of water at the edge of Punta Arenas. Lashed by heavy winds, the water rose and receded in massive swells.
       "The Strait of Magellan!" Tom cried. "And that's Tierra del Fuego on the other side. It's the fabled Land of Fire as Magellan's men called it when they saw the Indian bonfires along the shore.
       "The Land of Fire is still a good name, Tom. Just look at the number of fires blazing in the darkness over there."
       Tall jets of flame shot upward from hundreds of flare pipes at the Sombrero oil fields. This was the method used for burning off surplus gas.
       "The twin hills Voss mentioned should be visible," Tom said. "There they are, Bud. Now, we want the one to the east."
       Bud flew over the hill. The head wind had picked up and now whistled against the fuselage.
       "Down there," Bud said, nodding to the level spot Voss had described. "Think I can land her?" He raised his voice above the deafening wind.
       "Power approach," Tom replied.
       His friend nodded again and within minutes had landed smoothly.
       "I think I'll leave all the piloting to you hereafter," Tom said with a laugh as they taxied to a stop. "Great trip."
       Seconds later the boys were walking along the old Indian trail toward the clump of calafate bush Voss had told them about.
       "That stuff looks like barberry bush to me," Bud observed. "It sure grows high."
       Tom agreed as they surveyed the area. Here and there cattle were huddled around the natural-gas fires for warmth because the raw wind was up to a steady forty to fifty miles an hour.
       "It's winter down here," said Tom. "The nights are long. We won't see daylight for an hour or so."
       Bud halted as they advanced up a shallow depression. "There's the shack, Tom. And that plane in the field must be the one the Brungarians flew from Valpo."
       Tom and Bud crouched and surveyed the area. After making sure there were no guards around, they approached and peered through a dusty window. A large fire burned in the fireplace, but the house appeared to be vacant.
       "No one here," Bud murmured. "Maybe Tokatyan and the Stashas are in Sombrero."
       "Let's chance it," Tom replied. "We'll see if we can find the ghost carrier, and take off before they get back."
       The boys hastily entered the unlocked front door and walked inside. The only sounds were the creaking of floorboards under their feet and the howling of the wind around the house.
       "The carrier isn't here," Bud declared after scouting the room. "Think it can be in the plane?"
       "Let's look, Bud. It's high time for us to get out of here, anyway."
       As the boys stepped quickly to the front door, it burst open. The Tall One entered, followed by the Stashas. All three had their arms full of logs for the fire.
       The Brungarians dropped the logs. Roaring with rage, they charged at Tom and Bud!