Lost on the Moon by Roy Rockwood (ebook pdf reader for pc .TXT) 📖

CHAPTER VI

ON THE TRACK

 

The two boys gazed after Professors Henderson and Roumann. The

scientists were deep in a discussion of various technical matters,

which discussion, it was evident, made them oblivious to everything

else.

 

“Shall we ask them?” inquired Jack in a whisper.

 

“No; what’s the use?” queried Mark. “Let’s go off by ourselves, and

perhaps we can discover something. If we could once get on the trail of

the man who wrote the note, I think we could put our hands on the

person responsible for the blowing up of the motor.”

 

“I agree with you. We won’t bother them about our plans,” and he waved

his hand toward the scientists, who had, by this time, entered the

house.

 

“In the first place,” said Mark, as he and his chum turned from the

yard, and walked along a quiet country road, “I think our best plan

will be to find Dick Johnson, and ask him just where it was he met the

man who gave him a quarter to bring the note to me.”

 

“What for?” asked Jack.

 

“Why, then, we can tell where to start from. Perhaps Dick can give us a

description of the man, or tell from what direction he came. Then we’ll

know how to begin on the trail.”

 

“That’s a good idea, I guess. We know where he disappeared to, or,

rather, in nearly what direction, so that will help some.”

 

“Sure. Well, then, let’s find Dick.”

 

To the inquiries of the two lads from the projectile, Dick Johnson

replied that, as he had asserted once before, that the man was a

stranger to him.

 

“He was tall, and had a big black mustache,” Dick described, “but he

kept his hat pulled down over his eyes, so I couldn’t see his face very

well. Anyhow, it was dark when I met him.”

 

“Where did you meet him?” asked Mark.

 

“Not far from your house. He was standing on the corner, where you turn

down to go to the woollen mill, and, as I passed him, he asked me if I

wanted to earn a quarter.”

 

“Of course you said you did,” suggested Jack.

 

“Sure,” replied Dick. “Then he gave me the note, and told me where to

take it, and I did. That wasn’t wrong, was it?”

 

“No; only there seems to be something queer about the man, and we want

to find out what it is,” replied Mark.

 

“What was the man doing when you saw him?” asked Jack.

 

“Standing, and sort of looking toward your house.”

 

“Looking toward our house?” repeated Jack. “Was he anywhere near the

big shed where we build the machines?”

 

“Well, I couldn’t say. Maybe he might have been.”

 

“I guess that’s all you can tell us,” put in Mark, with a glance at his

chum, to warn him not to go too much into details with Dick, for they

did not want it known that some enemy had tried to wreck the

projectile.

 

“Yes, I can’t tell you any more,” admitted the small lad.

 

“Well, here’s a quarter for what you did tell us,” said Jack, “and if

you see that man again, and he gives you a note for us, just keep your

eye on him, watch where he goes, and tell us. Then you will get a half-dollar.”

 

“Gee! I’ll be on the watch,” promised Dick, his eyes shining at the

prospect of so much money.

 

“Come on,” suggested Jack to his chum, after the small chap had

departed. “Let’s go down by the white bridge and make some inquiries of

people living in that vicinity. They may have seen a stranger hanging

around, and, perhaps we can get on his trail that way.”

 

“All right,” agreed Mark, and they walked on together.

 

They had gone quite a distance away from the bridge, and had made

several inquiries, but had met with no success, and they were about to

give up and go back home.

 

“I know one person we haven’t inquired of yet,” said Mark, as they

tramped along.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“Old Bascomb, who lives alone in a shack on the edge of the creek. You

know the old codger who traps muskrats.”

 

“Oh, sure; but I don’t believe he’d know anything. If he did, he’s so

cranky he wouldn’t tell you.”

 

“Maybe he would, if we gave him a little money for some smoking

tobacco. It’s worth trying, anyhow. Bascomb goes around a great deal,

and he may have met a strange man in his travels.”

 

“Well, go ahead; we’ll ask him.”

 

The muskrat trapper did not prove to be in a very pleasant frame of

mind, but, after Mark had given him a quarter, Bascomb consented to

answer a few questions. The boys told him about looking for a strange

man, describing him as best they could, though they did not tell why

they wanted to find him.

 

“Wa’al, now, I shouldn’t be surprised but what I know the very fellow

you want,” said the trapper. “I met him a couple of days back, an’ I

think he’s still hanging around. Fust I thought he was after some of my

traps, but when I found he wa’ant, I didn’t pay no more attention to

him. He looked jest like you say.”

 

“Where was he?” asked Jack eagerly.

 

“Walkin’ along the creek, sort of absent-minded like.”

 

“You don’t know where he lives, or whether he is staying in this

vicinity, do you?” inquired Mark.

 

“Ya’as, I think I do,” replied the trapper.

 

“Where?” cried Jack eagerly.

 

“Wa’al, you know the old Preakness homestead, down by the bend of the

creek, about four mile below here?”

 

“Sure we know it,” answered Mark. “We used to go in swimming not far

from there.”

 

“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.”