CHAPTER XI

Tables Turned and No Eats

With a cautious movement that did not attract Toplinsky’s attention

Billy Sand touched Epworth on the shoulder.

“The hatches may be closed but not locked,” he suggested in a whisper.

“Perhaps we can get out on the top of the old crate, and find a way to

get inside of the airchambers.”

Epworth dropped down as silently as possible from the air hole. The

second he was away from the hole, Toplinsky popped up, and slammed the

panel shut.

“Ah, ha, my young cockerel,” they heard him exclaim exultantly, “I

guess that will fix you. I have not promised that I would save your

life when it was in jeopardy. True I have said that I would not kill

you. While this was under durance I shall stick up to it. However I am

not responsible for the temperature of space. You should have remained

where you belong.”

They heard him cackling shrilly but without pausing to hear more,

accompanied by Michael, who had informed them that his last name was

Strauss, they ran hurriedly to the hatch, pushing it open.

“Lady Luck,” Epworth exclaimed as he stepped out on the top of the

airship. “Not a living object in view, but——”

He was going to speak of the force of the wind but realized with

surprise that there was no wind. They were already beyond the earth’s

stratosphere.

They climbed out of the storeroom, dropped the hatch door into place,

and started to walk along the narrow runway over the top of the plane.

Epworth, who was in the lead, glanced outward.

Six hundred miles an hour, and no place to fall. In every direction

extended a dense black sky, lighted by gleaming balls of red that he

knew were stars and the sun—nothing above, nothing below, and on each

side endless ether. If they fell off this ship going with incredible

swiftness, where would they go? They were now too far away from the

earth to fall back on the terrestrial globe, and even if the gravital

drag of the earth grasped them they would be frozen stiff before they

got there, or shattered into fragments if they landed. It was a cold,

clammy, helpless feeling. Once off that ship they would go nowhere;

they would find death in endless space, where it is supposed to be

439° below zero.

Aside from this they realized that they had very few minutes to spare.

They must get below into the air chambers very quickly or perish with

cold, or in the rare atmospheric void.

All three were suddenly afflicted with vertigo, and began to reel

along dangerously near the edges of the little platform-run. Realizing

that this was certain destruction, they gained control of their

faculties by sheer force of will power, and holding their breath

dashed up to the first hatchway, and pulled at the ring.

It was locked on the inside, and therefore immovable.

For a second Epworth was appalled. Had Toplinsky beaten him to the

idea of escape? If so they were doomed. Already it was too late for

them to run back to the storeroom hatch opening. They were too far

spent to undertake it.

Had they simply jumped from one death to another in leaving the

storeroom? Epworth shivered at the thought—with cold as well as the

fear of death. For the first time he thought of his body floating

through space, embalmed in ice.

Then gathering his courage he ran on to the next hatch opening. By

this time he had discovered that the openings in the top of the

airship were four in number and about equal distances apart.

Glory be! The hatch door was locked but a small, slender stairway ran

down the side of the ship to a side door. Like a monkey he flashed

down this stairway followed by his companions. They dropped onto a

small square platform, and Epworth caught the bright knob of the door.

If it was locked they were as good as dead men. They were still

holding their breath, and life hung by a hair.

He jerked at the door nervously. It slid open, and he darted in

instantly. As his companions came down the ladder he caught each

frantically and pulled him inside, closing the door.

With one motion the three opened their mouths, and gulped down the

living, warm air. They were all but gone, and it required several

seconds for them to recover.

They were treading softly down the narrow companionway when a door

opened and Toplinsky came out of Joan’s room.

“By this time,” he was saying, “that young brother of yours is dead,

and I am going to change your place of abode.”

He extended his hand to pull the girl out of the room.

“I’m not going. I’m going to stay here, and get that panel open so my

brother can get air.”

She jerked back, and the giant put forth some force to move her.

Epworth bounded forward with fierce anger, and before the giant could

turn brought the butt of his gun down on the giant’s head.

“Get inside, and lock the door,” he urged. “Make it snappy—before some

one else drifts along.”

“Not by myself,” Joan protested quickly, sensing that in some

miraculous manner Epworth and his friend had escaped death in the

storeroom. “You and Billy must come in also.”

“Michael Strauss, the guard who is with us, must also come.”

“Just as you say.”

“In with you, Billy.”

Billy and Michael entered the room while Epworth guarded Toplinsky

with his gun. Just as Michael disappeared Toplinsky came around. He

had been knocked a little silly but was not totally out—just enough to

permit Billy and Michael to get into Joan’s room without being

discovered.

“Not a move! Not a whimper!” Epworth thundered when he discovered that

Toplinsky was coming back to the world. “There is not going to be a

loud noise.”

“Ah, ha, so you would threaten again,” Toplinsky shouted. “Ho,

comrades, this way.”

The scientist was demonstrating that he was a man without fear.

Epworth did not wait for the guards to appear, and from natural kind

heartedness did not strike the giant with the gun. Instead he slipped

into Joan’s room, and slammed and locked the door.

“So far so good,” he murmured. “Now if they do not shut off the supply

of air.”

“If he does that,” Michael explained, “we can knock a hole in the

door, and get air from the outside. The ship is constructed so that

the air is always inside of the companionway.”

“Fine and dandy,” Billy grinned in high good humor. “We are all

dressed up and on our way.”

“On our way,” Joan interposed, “but while we are traveling what will

we eat? I am already hungry.”

The three Americans looked at each other in dismay.

The Moon Colony · 第 11 / 29 章