MARK'S ESCAPE
Mark Sampson was alone in the deserted house. Bound hand and foot,
stripped of his clothing, and attired in some old garments that the
tramps who made a hanging-out place of the old mansion had cast aside,
the unfortunate lad was stretched on a pile of bagging, his heart
beating partly with fear and partly with rage over a desire to escape
and punish the scoundrel responsible for his plight.
The man who had captured him, after taking away Mark's clothes, had
chuckled, as though at some joke.
"You may think this is funny," spoke the lad bitterly, "but you won't
be so pleased when my friends get after you."
"They'll never get after me," boasted the man. "This is a good joke. To
think that I can pass myself off as you; that I can join them in the
projectile, and they never will be the wiser!"
"They'll soon discover that you are disguised as me," declared Mark,
"and when they do they'll have you arrested."
"Yes, but they'll not discover it until we have left the earth, and are
on our way to the moon. Then it will be too late to turn back, and my
object will have been accomplished. I will be with them in the
_Annihilator_, and I'll have my revenge! The projectile is due to sail
to-morrow, and I'll be on hand. I'm going to leave you now. I have left
orders with a friend of mine that you are to be released to-morrow
night. In the meanwhile you will have to be as comfortable as you can.
I wish you no harm, but I must keep you here.
"I will feed you well before I go, and put some water where you can get
it. But I must leave you tied. I'll not gag you, for, no matter how you
yell, no one will hear you. I have posted a notice in front of this
place that it is under the watch of the police, so no tramps will
venture in, and your friends will not come back.
"Now, just make yourself comfortable here, and I'll go to the moon in
your place. I think I shall enjoy the trip. As I said, you will be
released to-morrow night, several hours after the projectile has left
the earth."
"How do you know it is to start to-morrow morning?" asked Mark.
"Oh, I have been spying around, and I overheard the professors talking.
I know a thing or two, and I'll be on hand, on time, in your place!
Now, I have to leave you. I've left ten dollars to pay for your suit,
which I need to disguise myself with."
Then the man was gone, and Mark was left with his bitter thoughts to
keep him company. The whole daring scheme of the man had been revealed.
He did look something like Mark, and, attired in the lad's clothes, and
by keeping his face concealed, he might pass himself off as Jack's
chum; at least, until after the projectile had started.
"And then, as he says, it will be too late to return to earth and get
me," thought Mark bitterly. "Oh, why did I ever try to learn this man's
secret? Who is he, anyhow? Why didn't I wait for Jack at the barn, as I
promised? It's all my fault. I wonder if I can't get loose?"
Mark struggled several hours desperately and at last he felt the ropes
giving slightly. He redoubled his efforts. Strand by strand the cords
parted. He put all his efforts into one last attempt, and to his great
joy he felt his hands separate. He was partly free!
But scarcely half his task was accomplished. He had yet to discover the
secret of the hidden room--a room, as he afterward learned, which had
been built during slavery days to conceal the poor black men who were
escaping from the South.
"But now I have my hands to work with!" exulted Mark.
Resting a bit after his strenuous labors, he took a long drink of water
and attacked the ropes on his feet. They were comparatively easy to
loosen, and soon he stood up unbound.
"Now for the secret panel!" he exclaimed, for he was convinced that it
was by some such means that his captor had entered and left. As has
already been explained, Mark knew on which side of his prison the
opening was likely to be--it would be where the warning knocks had
sounded. He began a minute inspection of that wall.
But if Mark hoped to speedily discover the secret he was doomed to
disappointment. He went over every inch of the surface, seemingly, and
pressed on every depression or projection that met his eye, as he
passed the candle flame along the wall.
Success did not reward him, and, as hour after hour passed, and the
candle burned lower and lower, Mark began to despair.
"I must escape before the projectile leaves," he murmured. "It will
never do to let them take that man with them under the impression that
they have me. I must escape! I will!"
Once more he began the tiresome task of seeking the secret spring. The
candle was spluttering in the socket now. It would burn hardly another
minute. Desperately Mark sought.
At last, just as the candle gave a dying gasp and flared brightly up
prior to going out, the lad saw a small screw head he had not noticed
before. It was sunk deep in a board.
"I'll press that and see what happens!" he exclaimed.
With a suddenness that was startling, he found himself in total
darkness. The candle had burned out, but he had his finger on the
screw. He pressed it with all his force.
There was a rumbling sound in the darkness, a movement as if some heavy
body had slid out of the way, and Mark felt a breath of air on his
cheeks. Then he saw a dim light.
"Oh, I'm out! I'm out!" he cried joyously, breathing a prayer of
thankfulness at his deliverance. "I'm free! I pushed on the right
spring, and the panel slid back!"
He fairly leaped forward. The morning light was streaming in through
the broken windows. He saw himself in the old hall of the mansion, at
the head of the stairs, in a sort of anteroom, the mantle of which
apartment had swung aside to give him egress from the secret chamber
through a hole in the wall. He was free!
"But am I in time?" he cried. "It is morning--and about ten o'clock, I
should judge. I've been working to get free all night. Will I be in
time?"
He gave one last look behind at his prison and sprang down the rickety
stairs. He had but one thought--to reach home in time to unmask the
villain who was impersonating him--to be in time to make the journey to
the moon.
"But it's several miles, and I can't walk very fast," murmured Mark.
"I'm too stiff and weak. How can I do it?"
He thought of making his way to the nearest farm house, and asking for
the loan of a horse and carriage, but he looked so much like a tramp
that no farmer would lend him a horse.
"And I need to make speed," he murmured.
At that moment he heard a noise down the road. It was a steady
"chug-chug," like some distant motor-boat, but there was no water near
at hand.
"A motorcycle!" exclaimed Mark. "Some one is coming on a motorcycle.
Oh, if I could only borrow it!"
He ran down into the road. He could see the rider now. To his joy it
was Dick Johnson--the lad who had brought him the mysterious note.
"Hi Dick! Dick! hold on!" cried Mark.
The lad on the motor gave one glance at the ragged figure that had
hailed him. Then he turned on more power to escape from what he thought
was a savage tramp.
"Wait! Stop! I want that motorcycle!" cried Mark.
"Well, you're not going to get it!" yelled back Dick. "I'll send the
police after you."
Mark couldn't understand. Then a glance down at his ragged garments
showed him what was the matter.
"Wait! Hold on, Dick!" he cried, running forward. "I'm Mark Sampson!
I've had a terrible time! I was captured by that mysterious man, and
he's got my clothes. I must get home quick!"
Dick heard, but scarcely understood. However, he comprehended that his
friend was in trouble, and he wanted to help him. He slowed up, and
Mark reached him.
"Lend me your motorcycle, Dick," begged Mark. "I must get home in a
hurry to unmask a scoundrel. I'll leave your machine for you at our
house. I won't hurt it. I'm in a hurry! Get off!"
Somewhat dazed, Dick dismounted, and Mark climbed into the saddle. He
began to pedal, and then threw in the gasolene and spark. The cycle
chugged off.
"I'll leave it for you at our house," Mark called back. "I'm going on a
trip to the moon, and I don't want to be late."
He was fast disappearing in a cloud of dust, while Dick, gazing after
him, remarked:
"Well, I always thought those fellows were crazy to go off in
projectiles and things like that, and now I'm sure of it. Going to the
moon! Well, I only hope he doesn't take my motorcycle there!"
Mark sped on, turning the handle levers to get the last notch of speed
out of the cycle. Would he be in time?