Lost on the Moon, Roy Rockwood [best reads of all time .txt] 📗

CHAPTER VIII

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.