Lost on the Moon - Roy Rockwood (year 7 reading list .txt) 📗
- Author: Roy Rockwood
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down on Mark’s white face. “I’ll put you where you won’t get away,
either,” and, picking up the youth, he carried him a prisoner into the
deserted house.
JACK IS PUZZLED
Whistling merrily, with his mind as much on the big field of diamonds
he expected to discover on the moon, as it was on anything else, Jack
Darrow crossed over the meadows toward the telegraph office.
“By Jinks! It certainly will be great to fly through space once more,”
he mused. “Of course it isn’t much of a trip, only a quarter of a
million miles at most, but it will be a little outing for us, and then
those diamonds!”
A trip of a quarter of a million miles only a little outing! But then
what can be expected of lads who had gone to Mars and back again?
Jack lost no time in reaching the telegraph office, where he left the
message to be sent, urging the operator to “rush” it, which that
official promised to do.
“‘Twon’t be no great hardship on me, neither,” he said with a cheerful
grin, “seein’ as how this is the only one I’ve had to send to-day. I’ll
get it right off for you, Jack.”
Jack meant to hurry back, but, just as he was turning out of the main
village street, to cut across lots, and join Mark at the place agreed
upon, Jack saw two dogs fighting. It was with the best intentions in
the world that he ran toward them, for he wanted to separate them.
However a man was ahead of him, and soon had the two beasts apart. But
Jack lingered several moments to see if there would be a renewal of the
hostilities. There wasn’t, and he hurried on. In a short time he was
within sight of the barn, where his chum had agreed to meet him.
“Mark!” cried Jack, when he came within hailing distance.
There was no response.
“Maybe he’s hiding to fool me,” thought the lad, “I’ll give him another
call.”
Neither was there a reply to this shout, and Jack, with a vague feeling
of fear in his heart, hurried forward, climbed the fence that separated
the field from the highway, and fairly ran toward the barn.
A glance sufficed to show that Mark was not in sight, and, thinking
that his chum might be on the other side, Jack went around the
structure.
“Oh, you Mark!” he called. “I’m back! Let’s get a move on and go to the
old house.”
Silence was the only answer.
“That’s queer,” murmured Jack, when he had made a circuit of the place,
and had seen no sight of his friend. “I wonder if anything could have
happened to him? Perhaps he went inside, and has fallen down the hay
mow. I’ll take a look.”
He made a thorough inspection of the ramshackle old structure, but
there was no evidence that Mark had entered it, and Jack was soon quite
assured that no harm had befallen his friend in there. Then a sudden
thought came to him.
“Why, of course!” he exclaimed aloud. “I should have thought of that
before. Mark got tired of waiting, and went on to the Preakness house.
I might have known. I’ll go on and catch up to him there.”
Jack had reasoned correctly, but he could not know, what had taken
place with only the old, grim, deserted mansion for a witness. With a
lighter heart he set off down the road.
It did not take him long, at the pace he kept up, to come within sight
of the old gateway, with the creeper twining over the pillars. Then he
caught a glimpse of the house, and he at once slackened his footsteps.
“No use rushing into this thing,” he reasoned in a whisper. “Mark may
be in hiding, taking an observation of the mysterious man, and I don’t
want to spoil it, by butting in. Guess I’ll lie low for a while, and
see what develops.”
Crouching down beside some bushes that lined the roadway Jack looked
toward the silent, tumbled-down house and waited. All was still.
Occasionally a shutter flapped in the wind, the hinges creaking
dismally, or some of the loose window-panes rattled as the sash was
blown to and fro. It was not a pleasant aspect, and as the afternoon
was waning, and the sun was going down, while a cool wind sprang up,
Jack was anything but comfortable in his place of observation.
And the one objection to it was that there was nothing to observe. Not
a sign of life was to be seen about the place, and the broken windows,
like so many unblinking eyes, stared out on the fields and road.
“Oh pshaw!” exclaimed Jack at length, “I’m not going to sit here this
way! I’m going up and take a look. It can’t bite me, and if that man’s
in there I can give him some sort of a talk that will make it look all
right. I’m going closer. Maybe Mark’s inside there, waiting for me,
though it’s queer why he didn’t keep his agreement and wait for me at
the barn. Well, here goes.”
Though he spoke bravely, it was not without a little feeling of
apprehension that Jack started toward the old mansion. He kept a close
watch for the advent of any person or persons who might be in the
house, but, when he reached the front porch, and had seen no one, he
felt more at ease.
“Hello, Mark!” he cried boldly. “Are you inside?”
He paused for an answer. None came.
“This is getting rather strange,” murmured Jack, who was now quite
puzzled as to what to make of the whole matter. “Mark must be here, yet
why doesn’t he answer me? Oh, you Mark!” he shouted at the top of his
voice.
There was only silence, and, after waiting a few moments Jack made up
his mind that the best plan would be to enter the house and look
around.
He made a hasty search through the lower rooms, but saw no sign of
Mark. It was the same upstairs, and on the third floor there was no
evidence of his chum. Jack called again, but got no reply.
“The garret next, and then the cellar,” he told himself, and these two
places, darker and more dismal than any other parts of the old mansion,
were soon explored.
“Well, if Mark came here he’s not here now,” thought Jack, “and there’s
no use in my staying any longer. Maybe something happened that he had
to go back home. Perhaps he’s trailing the man. We should have made up
some plan to be followed in case anything like that happened.”
Deciding that the best thing he could do would be to go back home Jack
came out of the old house. As he did so he gave a final call:
“Mark! Oh, you Mark! Are you anywhere about?”
What was that? Was it an answer, or merely the echo of his own voice?
Jack started, and then, as he heard another sound, he said:
“Only the wind squeaking a shutter. Mark isn’t here.”
If Jack had only known!
Through the quickly-gathering darkness Jack turned his steps toward
home. On the way along the country road he kept a sharp lookout for any
sign of his chum, and, also, he looked to see if he could catch a
glimpse of any person who might answer the description of the man they
suspected of tampering with the Cardite motor.
But the road was deserted, save for an occasional farmer urging his
horses along, that be might the more quickly get home to supper.
“It’s mighty strange,” mused Jack, as he kept on. “I don’t think Mark
did just right, and yet, perhaps, when it’s all explained, he may have
good reasons for what he did. Maybe I’m wrong to worry about him, and,
just as likely as not, he’s safe home, wondering what kept me. But he
might have known that I’d come back to the barn where I said I’d meet
him. Of course that dog-fight delayed me a little, but not much.”
It was quite dark when Jack reached the house where he and his chum
lived with the two professors. There was a cheerful light glowing from
many windows, and Jack also noticed an illumination in the shed where
the projectile was housed.
“Guess they’re working on it, to get it in shape for the trip, sooner
than they expected,” he mused.
Jack was met at the door by Washington White.
“Hello, Wash!” greeted the lad.
“Good land a’ massy! Where hab yo’ been transmigatorying yo’se’f during
de period when the conglomeration of carbohydrates and protoids hab
been projected on to de interplanetary plane ob de rectangle?”
“Do you mean where have I been while supper was getting ready?” asked
Jack.
“Dat’s ‘zackly what I means, Massa Jack.”
“Then why don’t you say it?”
“I done did. Dat’s what I done. Supper’s cold. But where am Massa
Mark?”
“What! Isn’t Mark home?” cried Jack, starting back in alarm.
“No, Massa Jack, we ain’t seed him sence yo’ two went off togedder.
Where yo’ all been?”
“Mark not home!” gasped Mark. “Where is Professor Henderson, Wash? I
must speak to him at once.”
“He am out in de shed wif Massa Roumann.”
With fear in his heart Jack dashed out toward the big shed.
“Ain’t yo’ goin’ t’ hab some supper?” called Washington.
“I don’t want any supper—yet,” flung back Jack over his shoulder.
A DARING PLOT
Mark Sampson lay an inert mass in the arms of the man who had attacked
him. Through the sagging door of the old, deserted house the captive
lad was carried, and up creaking stairs.
“I guess no one saw me,” whispered the man. “I’m safe, so far, and I
can work my scheme to perfection. Everything turned out well for me. I
was just wondering how I could get this youth in my power, and he
fairly walked into my hands! Now to keep him safe until I can take his
place in the projectile, and have my revenge. I have waited a long time
for it, but it has come at last!”
Pausing at the head of the creaking stairs the man looked behind him,
to make sure that he was not being followed, but not a sound broke the
stillness of the old house, save the rattle and bang of the ruined
shutters.
“I’m safe! Safe!” exulted the man, with a cruel chuckle. “Now to bind
him, and hide him in the secret chamber.”
He laid Mark down on a pile of bagging in a corner of a room at the
head of the stairs. Then, still glancing behind him, as if fearful of
being observed, the man walked over to a mantlepiece, fumbled about a
bit of carving that adorned the centre, and pressed on a certain spot.
A moment later the mantle seemed to swing out, and there was revealed a
secret room, the existence of which would never have been suspected by
the casual observer.
Taking some of the bags from the pile where the unconscious lad was,
the man made a rude bed in the secret room. Then he carried Mark in,
and placed him in a fairly comfortable position, first taking the
precaution, however, of binding his hands and feet.
“There,” whispered the man, when he had finished, “I guess you’ll not
get away
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