Lost on the Moon by Roy Rockwood

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"Wa'al, the old house has been deserted now for quite a spell," went on
the trapper, "and there ain't nobody lived in it but tramps. But the
other night, when I was comin' past, with a lot of rats I'd jest taken
out of my traps, I see a light in the old house. Thinks I, to myself,
that there's more tramps snoozin' in there, and I didn't reckon it was
none of my business, so I kept on. But jest as I was walking past the
main gate, some one come out of the house and hurried away. I had a
good look at him, an'----"

"Who was it?" asked Mark impatiently, for the old trapper was a slow
talker.

"It was the same man you're lookin' for," declared Bascomb. "I'm sure
of it, an' he's hangin' out in the old Preakness house. If you want t'
see him, why don't you go there?"

"We will!" cried Jack. "Come on, Mark. I think we're on the trail at
last."

CHAPTER VII

MARK IS CAPTURED

Eagerly the boys hurried forward, intent on making the best time
possible to the old Preakness homestead, which was a landmark for miles
around, and which, in its day, had been a handsome house and estate.
Now it was fallen into ruins, for there was a dispute among the heirs,
and the property was in the Chancery Court.

"Do you think we'll find him there?" asked Mark, as they made their way
along the dusty highway. "Hard to tell. Yet, if he's hanging out in
this neighborhood, that would be as good a place as any, for him to
hide in."

"I wonder who he can be, anyhow? And how he knows me?"

"Give it up. Evidently he isn't a tramp, though he stays in a place
where there are plenty of the Knights of the Road."

The boys increased their pace, and were soon on the main road leading
to the Preakness house, and about a mile away from it. "We'll soon be
there now," remarked Jack. "Then we'll see if we can find that man."

As he spoke, the lad put his hand in his pocket, and, a moment later,
he uttered a startled cry.

"What's the matter?" asked Mark, in some alarm.

"Matter? Why, gee whiz! If I haven't forgotten to send that telegram
Professor Henderson gave me! It's to order some special tools to take
along on our trip to the moon. They didn't come, and the professor
wrote out a message urging the factory to hurry the shipment. He gave
it to me to send, just before the accident to the motor, but when that
happened it knocked it out of my mind, I guess. I stuck the telegram in
my pocket, and here it is yet," and Jack drew forth a crumpled paper.
"Wouldn't that make you tired?" he asked. "It's important, and ought to
go at once. The professor won't like it."

"I'll tell you what to do," suggested Mark, after a moment's thought.
"The telegraph office isn't so far away from here. You can cut across
lots, and be there in fifteen or twenty minutes. Tell 'em to rush the
message, and it may be in time yet. Anyhow, we're going to be delayed
because of the accident to the motor, so it won't make so much
difference. But come on, let's start, and we can hurry back."

"I guess that's the best plan," remarked Jack dubiously, for he did not
fancy a half-hour's tramp across the fields and back again. Then, as he
thought of something else, he called out:

"Say, Mark, there's no use of both of us going to the telegraph office.
I'll go alone, as it's my fault, and you can stay here, and watch to
see if that strange man appears on the scene. I'll not be long, and you
can wait for me here."

"How would it be if I went on a little nearer to the Preakness house?"
asked Mark. "I can meet you there just as well as here, and something
may develop."

"Good idea! You go on, and when I come back, I'll take the road that
leads through the old slate quarry, and save some time that way. I'll
meet you right near the old barn that stands on the Gilbert property,
just before you reach the Preakness grounds."

"All right; I'll be there, but don't run your legs off. We're out for
all day, and there isn't anything that needs to be done at home, or
around the projectile, so take your time."

"Oh, I'll not go to sleep," declared Jack. "I want to see if we can't
solve the mystery of the man who writes such queer notes."

Jack started off across the fields at a swift pace, while Mark strolled
on down the road, in the direction of the old Preakness house. He was
thinking of many things, chiefly of the wonderful journey that lay
before them, and he was wondering what the moon would look like when
they got to it.

That it would be a wild, desolate place, he had no doubt, for the
evidences of the telescopes of astronomers pointed that way, and, as is
well known, the most powerful instruments can now bring the moon to
within an apparent distance of one hundred miles of the earth. This is
true of the Lick telescope, which has a magnifying power of 2,500 and
an object lens a yard across.

But, with this powerful telescope, it has been impossible to
distinguish any such objects as forests, cities, or any evidences of
life on the moon--that is, on the side that has always been turned
toward us.

Almost unconsciously, Mark went on faster than he intended, and, before
he knew it, he had arrived at the barn where he had promised to wait
for his chum. Mark looked at his watch, and found that he would still
have some time to linger before he could expect Jack to return. He sat
down on a stone beside the fence, and looked about him. The day was
warm for fall, and the last of the crickets were chirping away, while,
in distant fields, men could be seen husking corn, or drawing in loads
of yellow pumpkins.

"I wonder if we'll have pumpkin pie on the moon," thought Mark.
"Though, of course, we won't. I guess all we'll have to eat will be
what Washington takes along in the projectile--that is, unless we find
people on the other side of the place."

He sat on the stone for some minutes longer, and then, tiring of the
inactivity, he arose and strolled about. Something seemed to draw him
in the direction of the old house, which he knew was just around the
bend in the road.

"I guess there wouldn't be any harm in my going along and taking a peep
at it," mused the lad. "It will be some time before Jack returns, and I
may be able to catch a glimpse of our man. I think I'll go up where I
can see the place, and I can come back in time to meet Jack. I'll do
it. Maybe the fellow might escape while I'm waiting."

Mark thus tried to justify himself for his action in not keeping to his
agreement with his chum. Of course it was not an important matter, Mark
thought, though the results of his simple action were destined to be
more far-reaching than he imagined. He thought he would be back in time
to meet Jack, and so he strolled on, going more cautiously now, for, in
a few minutes he would come in sight of the old, deserted house, and he
did not know what he might find there.

Mark's first sight of the Preakness homestead was of two old stone
posts, that had once formed a fine gateway. The posts were in ruins,
now, and half fallen down, being covered with Virginia creeper, the
leaves of which were now a vivid red, mingled with green.

"Nothing very alarming there," said Mark, half aloud. He could just
catch a glimpse of the roof of the house over the tops of the trees,
which had not yet shed all their leaves. "Guess I'll go on a little
farther. Maybe our friend, the enemy, is sitting on the front porch,
sunning himself."

Past the old gateway Mark continued, intending to proceed along the
highway until he got directly in front of the old mansion. There, he
knew, he would have a good view, unobstructed by trees or shrubbery.

When the lad got to this place in the road, he paused, and stooped
over, as if tying the lace of his shoe, for it was his intention to
pass himself off, if possible, as a casual passer-by, so that in case
the mysterious man should be in the house, his suspicions would not be
aroused by seeing the youth to whom he had written the note staring in
at him.

And, while he was apparently fussing with his shoe, Mark was narrowly
eying the old house.

"Not a very inviting place," thought Mark. "I don't see why any man who
could afford anything better, would stay there--unless he has some
strong motive for lingering in this section. And that's probably what
this fellow has, and I'd like to discover it. Well, I don't see any
signs of him, so I guess I might as well go back, and wait for Jack.
He'll be along soon."

He stood up, took a good look at the house, and was about to retrace
his steps down the highway, when he saw the sagging front door of the
old mansion slowly open. It creaked on the rusty hinges, and Mark
stared with all his might as he saw a man emerge, a man who did not
look like a tramp, for his clothes were of good material and cut, and
fit him well. Nor did he wear a stubbly growth of beard, but, on the
contrary, his face was clean shaven. The man was about Mark's size,
perhaps a little taller, and nearly as stout. He stood on the sagging
porch, and gazed off toward the road.

"Well, if that's the man Dick Johnson got the note from he's changed
mightily in appearance," thought Mark, as he looked at the fellow. "He
isn't very tall, and he hasn't any black mustache. But of course he may
have shaved that off, and I suppose in the dark, and when one is in a
hurry to earn a quarter, it's hard to say whether a man is tall or
short. I wonder if this can be the person we're looking for?"

Mark hardly knew what to do. He stood in the road, undecided, and
fairly stared at the man, who had left the porch, and was walking down
the weed-grown path. He was looking straight at Mark, but if the
stranger was the person who had written the note, and if he recognized
the lad, he gave no sign to that effect.

"Good afternoon," said the man, as he paused at the gap in the front
wall, where once a gate had been. "Pleasant day, isn't it."

"Ye--yes," stammered Mark, wondering what to say next.

"Live around here?" went on the man.

"Not very far off."

"Ah, then you know this old shack?"

"Well, I don't get over here, very often. Do you live here?" ventured
Mark boldly, determining to do some questioning on his own account.

"Me live here?" cried the man, as if indignant "Well, hardly! I was
just passing, and, happening to see the old place, and having a
fondness for antiques, I stepped in. But it is in bad shape. I should
say tramps make it their hangout."

"It has that name," said Mark.

There was a pause for a moment, and the lad was a trifle embarrassed.
The man was gazing boldly at him.

"I guess I've made a mistake," thought Mark. "This can't be the man we
want. He doesn't live here, and he doesn't look like him. I'd better be
getting back to meet Jack."

"Are you engaged at anything in particular?" questioned the man taking
a few steps nearer the youth.

"No, I'm not working, but I expect to take a trip, shortly, with some
friends of mine," answered Mark.

"Ah, is that so?" and there was polite inquiry in the man's voice. "Are
you going far?"

"Quite a distance." Mark wondered what the man would say if he told him
he was going to the moon.

"I wonder if you would do me a favor?" went on the man. "As I was
passing through this old house I saw, on one of the outer doors, an
old-fashioned knocker. I am a collector of antiques, and I would very
much like to have that. But I need help in getting it off. I do not
intend to steal it, but if it is left here some tramp may destroy it,
and that would be too bad. I intend to remove it, and then hunt up the
owners of this place, and purchase it from them."

"It will be hard to discover who are the owners," replied Mark, "as the
title is in dispute."

"So much the better for me. Will you help me remove the knocker? I will
pay you for your time."

Mark hesitated. He did not like the man's manner, and there was a
shifty, uneasy look about his eyes. Still he might be all right. But
Mark did not like the idea of going into the old house with him alone.
It might be safe, and, again, it might not. But the knocker was on an
outside door. There could be no harm in helping him, as long as it was
outside. The man saw the hesitation in the lad's manner.

"It will not take us long," the stranger said. "I want you to help me
pry off the knocker, as I have no screw-driver to remove it. I will pay
you well."

As he spoke he came nearer to Mark, and the lad noticed that the man's
right hand was held behind his back. This struck Mark as rather
suspicious. Suddenly he became aware of a peculiar odor in the air--a
sweet, sickish odor. He started back in alarm, all his former
suspicions aroused. The man seemed to leap toward him.

"Look out!" suddenly cried the fellow. "Look behind you!"

Involuntarily Mark turned. He saw nothing alarming. The next instant he
felt himself grasped in the strong arms of the man, and a cloth that
smelled strongly of the strange, sweetly sickish odor was pressed over
the lad's face.

"Here! Stop! Let me go! Help! Help!" cried Mark. Then his voice died
out. He felt weak and sick, and sank back, an inert mass in the man's
arms.

"I guess I've got you this time," whispered the fellow, as he gazed
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.

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.

CHAPTER IX

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 in a hurry. Now I'll wait until dark, and then I'll give you
something to eat, for I don't want you to starve. But I must keep in
hiding, for, very likely, there'll be a search made for him. Guess I'd
better stay here, and see what happens," and the mysterious man pressed
the spring that sent the mantle back into place again, hiding all
traces of the secret room.

"It's a good thing I stumbled upon this hiding place," he said to
himself. "It couldn't be better for what I want. Now to see what
happens next."

He did not have long to wait, for in a short time Jack, as we have
seen, appeared on the scene, and began his search. At the sound of his
voice, calling for Mark, the man started in his hiding place, and
glanced uneasily at Mark.

"He may hear, and wake up," he whispered.

Jack came upstairs in the deserted house, and continued his search
there, calling from time to time. He gave one loud shout at the head of
the stairs, and the very thing that the man feared would happen came to
pass.

The effect of the drug having worn off, Mark stirred uneasily, and
started up. He heard Jack's cry, and uttered a half-articulate answer.
In an instant the man was at his side, and had quickly gagged him. This
had the further effect of awakening the unfortunate lad; and he
struggled to loosen his bonds, but they were too strongly tied. He
endeavored to answer Jack, but only a meaningless mumble resulted, for
the gag was effective.

"All you have to do is to keep quiet," urged the man, as he knelt
beside Mark in the darkness. "As soon as your chum goes, I'll take that
thing out of your mouth, and give you something to eat."

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