Through Space to Mars by Roy Rockwood (great novels to read .TXT) 📕

“That’ll be just the stuff for you, Andy,” cried Jack.

“Well, bring on your monsters,” said the old hunter, as he walked

toward the little lake, where wild ducks abounded. “I’ll try and

shoot some for you.”

“Andy takes everything as a matter of course,” went on Jack. “No

sort of animal seems to frighten him. If he should happen to

meet a dinotherium, such as used to live ages ago, he’d shoot it

first, and wonder about it afterward.”

“And we, are likely to meet with stranger beasts than

dinotheriums on Mars,” said Mr. Roumann.

“What am dat dinotherium?” asked Washington, entering the room at

that moment and catching the word.

“Washington wants to work that into his conversation!” exclaimed

Jack with a laugh. “But you want to be careful, Wash.”

“Why so, Massa Jack?”

“Because the dinotheriurn was a fearful beast. It was about

twenty feet long, lived in the water, and ate all sorts of

weeds.”

“How long you say he was?”

“About twenty feet.”

“He must eat a pow’ful sight ob weeds, den. Wish I had one.”

“What for?”

“Cause mah garden am jest oberrun wid weeds. If I had one ob dem

dinnasorriouses—”

“Dinotheriums,” corrected Jack.

“Dat’s what I said,” observed Washington with dignity. “If I had

one ob dem, I wouldn’t hab t’ weed mah garden. Where am one to

be possessed ob, Massa Jack?”

“I guess you were born a few million years too late,” was the

lad’s answer. “They lived a few centuries before the flood.”

“Good land!” exclaimed Washington, his eyes opening wide.

“Before Noah built de ark?”

“Yes.”

“Landy gracious! Dat animai’d be so old by dis time dat he

couldn’t chew de weeds after he pulled’em. Guess I’ll hab t’do

mah own weedin’.”

“I reckon you will,” added Mark.

They went back to the machine shop, and for the next week were

very busy over the Annihilator. It was beginning to assume

shape, and some of the machinery was installed.

One evening, after a hard day’s work, when they ‘were all seated

in the big living-room of Professor Henderson’s home, discussing

the progress they were making, Jack suddenly held up his hand for

silence.

“What’s the matter?”’ asked Mark.

“I thought I heard somebody walking around the house,” was the

stout lad’s answer.

“Maybe it’s Washington,” suggested the professor. “He generally

goes out to see if his chickens are shut up. He is very proud of

his flock of hens, and seems to hate to kill any for pot-pie.”

They all listened. Plainly there was some one or some animal

moving about under the windows of the living-room.

“That doesn’t sound like Washington,” said Mr. Roumann.

Just then the colored man, who had been upstairs, attending to

some of the housework (for he was the only servant the professor

kept), came down.

“Were you just outside, Washington?” asked Mr. Henderson.

“No, sah. I’se been upstairs, makin’ beds.”

“There it is again!” cried Jack suddenly.

The footsteps sounded more plainly, and one of the window

shutters rattled.

“Dat’s somebody after mah chickens!” exclaimed the colored man.

“I’se gwine t’ git him, too!”

He started for the door, but the professor held him back.

“Let Andy go,” he said. “He will make less noise than any of

us.”

He looked at the old hunter and nodded. Andy understood, and,

taking his gun from a corner, slipped out of a side door, making

no more noise than a cat.

The others, left in the living-room, waited in silence. They

could hear the stealthy footsteps, which, however, seemed now to

be moving away.

“I wonder who or what it can be?” murmured the professor. “This

is the second time some one has been sneaking around here. I

don’t like it.”

“It does look suspicious,” admitted Jack. “Do you suppose the

man you spoke of, Mr. Roumann, who you thought might try to

discover your secret, has traced you here, and is endeavoring to

steal it?”

“No, I hardly think so. I took good care to conceal my

movements, and not even my closest friends know that I am here

with Professor Henderson, making a projectile, the trip of which

will astonish the world. No, I think this must be some other

person.”

“It’s a pusson after mah chickens!” insisted Washington. “If

yo’ll allow me, perfesser, t’ project mahself inter de promixity

of his inner consciousness—”

“No, you just stay here,” decided Mr. Henderson. “You might get

into trouble if you went out and tried conclusions with a thicken

thief, which I suppose is what you are trying to say you want to

do.”

“Dat’s what I did say, perfesser.”

They could no longer hear the footsteps, but the silence of the

night was suddenly broken by the report of Andy’s gun.

“There! He’s shot at him!” cried Jack.

“I hope he disabled dat chicken stealer!” yelled the colored man.

“Anybody what’ll steal chickens—”

“Hush!” commanded Mr. Henderson.

Another shot rang out, and then the sound of footsteps could be

heard.

“He’s running past here,” called Jack, hurrying to the door.

He caught sight of a dark figure rushing past, and was about to

follow, but the outline was immediately lost in the darkness, and

Jack that it would be a useless move. Andy came up.

“Did you hit him?” cried Jack

“No. I only fired over his head,” replied the old hunter.

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know, but it was some man prowling around, and for no

good purpose, I take it.”

“Did he steal any ob my chickens?” asked Washington.

“No; he wasn’t near the coop.”

“I guess it was only a tramp,” said Mr. Henderson.

“I hope he doesn’t go near the machine shop,” added Mr. Roumann.

“Still, if he did, the two machinists sleeping there would hear

him.”

They returned to the room, and Andy stood his gun in a corner.

The weapon was seldom far from him.

“What was he doing when you saw him?” asked Mr. Henderson.

“Just sneaking along the window here as if listening.”

“Maybe he was trying to hear what we were talking about,”

suggested Jack.

“Or trying to discover my secret,” added Mr. Roumann quickly.

“Fortunately I never talk about the secret of the power. But I

shall be anxious about the machine shop.”

“Suppose we go out and take a look around it,” proposed Mark.

“Ned and Sam will know if any intruder has been sneaking around

there.”

They all went out where the Annihilator was in process of

building, but the machinists said they had not been disturbed,

and they were sure no one had stolen anything.

There was no further disturbance that night, but when Mr. Roumann

paid an early visit to the machine shop the next morning, he

uttered a cry of surprise.

“What is it?” asked Jack, who accompanied him.

“The plates—the plates of the Etherium motor!” cried the

scientist. “They have been stolen!”