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answered Jack. “We heard a explosion, just after

we saw two men running away from the shop, and we found Mr.

Roumann senseless.”

 

Professor Henderson bent over, and placed his hand on the heart

of his friend.

 

“I’m afraid he’s dying,” he said.

 

“Dying?” cried jack in dismay.

 

“Yes; and if he expires, the secret of the wonderful power will

die with him. We will never be able to get to Mars!”

 

The professor placed his ear against the breast of the unconscious

man.

 

“There is still a spark of life,” he remarked. “Perhaps I can

save him. I will try my electric remedy.”

 

He got up and hurried to the house. Mr. Henderson had invented a

number of medical appliances, not the least of which was an

affair, different from an electric battery in that it allowed a

current to be administered internally. It was this that he now

decided to try on the unfortunate German.

 

He came back in less than a minute with a curious machine. It

was shaped like a box, but on the outside had a number of shiny

knobs, and several wires ending in brass handles.

 

Professor Henderson placed a brass handle in each of the palms of

the German, directing Mark and jack to hold them there. Then he

placed several of the shining knobs at the back of his head, and

ran a long wire around his waist.

 

“Now, Andy,” ordered the inventor, “if you will take hold of this

rod and place the end of it on his tongue when I open his mouth,

I think we may be able to revive him.”

 

This was done, and Mr. Henderson turned on the current. There

was a buzzing sound from the box, and a slight tremor was visible

throughout the whole body of the unconscious man.

 

“It is beginning to work!” exclaimed the professor. “He is

coming to!”

 

Mr. Roumann opened his eyes.

 

“Take the rod from his tongue, Andy,” directed Mr. Henderson.

 

The hunter did so, and the German, looking curiously about him,

asked:

 

“Is the projectile damaged?”

 

“It doesn’t seem to be,” replied Jack quickly.

 

“Are you much hurt?” asked the professor.

 

Mr. Roumann passed his hand slowly across his head.

 

“I feel rather strange here,” he said. “There seems to be some

injury.”

 

Mark silently pointed to the cut. Mr. Henderson quickly examined

it.

 

“The skull is not injured,” he announced. “It is merely a scalp

wound. Wait a moment now and I will give you something to make

you feel better.”

 

From a small pocket case he took a spoon and a bottle. He poured

out a strong-smelling liquid, and administered a few drops to the

German. The latter’s pale face at once became flushed.

 

“I think you will be all right now,” said Mr. Henderson. “But it

was a narrow escape. Do you feel well enough to let us take you

to the house?”

 

“I think so. But guard the shop well. That crazy machinist came

back, and some one was with him. Then came an explosion—and I

don’t remember any more.”

 

“I’ll guard the place!” exclaimed Andy. “And if any of those

chaps come around—well, they’ll wish they hadn’t,” and he looked

significantly at his gun.

 

Mr. Roumann was getting better every moment, and was soon able to

stand. He was assisted to the house, where Mr. Henderson

attended to the injury on his head.

 

Then, after some more medicine had been administered, and the

electric remedy had been applied again, the German announced that

he felt almost as good as ever, except for an aching head.

 

“How did it all happen?” asked Mr. Henderson, and Jack and Mark

told what they knew of the explosion.

 

“I was working over an extra air-pump that I wish to take along

with us,” stated Mr. Roumann, “when I was startled by seeing two

strangers standing near my work bench. One I recognized as the

insane machinist who was here before. The other—”

 

“The other was the same one who looked in the window one night,

and who, I believe, stole the power plates,” interrupted Jack.

 

“I wish I had known that,” went on Mr. Roumann. “I would have

made him give them back. But I did not have time to do anything.

Before I could stop him the crazy machinist had thrown something

at me, which I now know must have been a bomb. Then came the

explosion, and knew nothing more until you revived me. Is the

place much wrecked?”

 

“I think not,” answered Jack.

 

“We will go look in a little while; just as soon as we see that

you are all right,” announced the professor.

 

“Oh, I am all right. Go now. I am anxious to know.”

 

Having assured himself that the German was able to walk to the

shop, Mr. Henderson an assent, and the two boys, Washington and

two scientists started for the place where Annihilator was kept.

 

“How did you happen to see it, Washington?” asked Mark.

 

“I was out fixin’ a loose board on mah chicken coop,” explained

the colored man, “when I seen dem two rapscallions come runnin’

out ob de place. I knowed dey hadn’t no right dere, an’ I

hollered at ‘em. But dey didn’t stop, an’ de nextest t’ing I

knowed dere was a big bang. I run in, an’ I seed Mistah Roumann

all blowed to pieces.”

 

“Hardly as bad as that,” said the German with a smile.

 

“Well, almost,” insisted Washington.

 

They reached the machine shop. The smoke had all cleared away,

but the fumes from the bomb were still noticeable.

 

“I wonder what their object could have been?” said Jack.

 

“I believe they are urged on by some of my enemies,” was the

German’s reply. “But let us see what damage has been done. I

hope it is not much.”

 

Pieces of broken machinery, twisted wheels, bent levers,

shattered cogs and smashed plates were all about one corner of

the shop. But the great projectile was still in place. It had

not even been jarred.

 

Mr. Roumann went to an opening in the side that led to the

engine-room. No sooner had he entered than he uttered a cry.

 

“The Etherium motor is damaged!” he exclaimed, and with fear in

their hearts the others followed him inside the Annihilator.

CHAPTER XIII

AN ALARMING THREAT

 

The main machines in the engine-room were the two motors, one

designed to send the projectile through the atmosphere, the other

intended to propel it through the space filled with what is

called ether.

 

It was to these two massive machines that the eyes of all were

now directed. The smaller one, the atmospheric motor, did not

appear to have been damaged, but several wheels and pipes of the

other were broken and twisted.

 

“Is it ruined?” asked Professor Henderson.

 

Mr. Roumann was anxiously looking at the apparatus to see what

damage had been done by the bomb.

 

“Can’t we go to Mars?” inquired Jack.

 

“I think so,” was the reassuring reply of the scientist. “It is

not damaged so much as I feared. The wheels and pipes are easily

replaced, and as long as the generator and the distributing

plates are not disturbed, I can easily repair the rest. But it

was a fortunate chance that the bomb did not explode nearer the

projectile. Otherwise we would have had to give up our journey.”

 

“And we would have had to if you had been killed,” remarked the

professor. “I thought the secret of the power was going to die

with you!”

 

“It will,” replied Mr. Roumann, “but not just yet. I shall never

disclose the source of the power until I reach Mars, get what I

am after, and come back. Then I may bequeath it to you,

Professor Henderson, in return for the kindness of yourself and

your young assistants.”

 

“I will appreciate that. But you had better go to the house now

and let me doctor you up.”

 

“No, I feel well. I want to get right to work repairing the

damage. It will delay us several days, but we cannot avoid it.

I wish I could catch the men responsible for this outrage.”

 

“Have you any idea who they were?”

 

“No; but I suspect they were in the enemy of mine. A man who

used to work for me, but whom I discharged because of dishonetesty.

His name was Zeb Forker.”

 

“One of the men who threw the bomb was same one who was at the

window one night,” said Mark. “Do you suppose he could be

Forker, Mr. Roumann?”

 

“No, I do not believe so. But we will not discuss that now. I

fancy the men will not bother us again.”

 

“I’ll tell Andy to keep a better watch,” said Mr. Henderson.

 

“And we’ll help him,” added Mark. “There is little for us to do

on the projectile now, and we can do guard duty, Jack and I

together.”

 

It took Mr. Roumann several days to repair the damage done to the

Etherium motor by the bomb. During that time Andy and the boys

were constantly on guard about the shop, but the crazy machinist

and his companion did not return.

 

Washington White agreed to stand guard part of one night, and, as

the others were tired, they agreed to it. But a fox or some

animal got in among the colored man’s chickens, and at the first

sound of alarm from his favorite fowls, Washington deserted his

post and rushed for the coop. Jack, who was awakened by the

noise, looked out of the window.

 

“It is some one trying to get in, Wash?” he asked.

 

“Dat’s what, Massa Jack.”

 

Jack awakened Mark, and the two hurried down with their guns.

They found the colored maw making a circuit of his coop.

 

“I thought you said some one was trying to get in,” observed

Jack.

 

“So dey was, Massa Jack. I done heard de most, tremendousness

conglomeration of disturbances in de direction ob my domesticoryian

orinthological specimens, an’ I runned ober to see what it were.”

 

“You mean that something was after your chickens?” asked Mark.

 

“Dat’s de impression I done endeavored to prognostigate to yo’,

but seems laik I ain’t understood,” replied Washington with an

injured air.

 

“Oh, I understand you, all right,” said Jack, “but I thought you

meant some one was gettin in the machine shop.”

 

“No, dere ain’t been no one dere, but I was skeered dat somebody

was after mah chickens, but I guess it were only a rat. I’ll go

back an stay on guard now.”

 

“No, you’d better go to bed,” decided Jack. “Mark and I will

finish out the night.”

 

“All right,” agreed Washington, who, to tell the truth, was getting

sleepy.

 

There were no further disturbances, and Mark and Jack found their

tour of duty rather lonesome.

 

“Well, I suppose we’ll start in a day or so,” marked Jack, as

they paced about the big shed which housed the great projectile.

 

“Yes. The motor seems to be in good working order again. But

say, I’ve just thought of something.”

 

“What?”

 

“Suppose something should happen to Mr. Roumann or to the motor

while we were half way to Mars? I mean, suppose he should die,

why, we wouldn’t know how to stop the motor, and we might keep on

going forever.”

 

“Oh, I guess he’ll tell the professor enough about it so that in

case anything happened we could start it or

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