THE SIGNAL FAILS
"Stop! Don't drink that! It may be poison!" yelled Jack.
"Pull him back!" shouted Mark, and together they advanced on the old
hunter. They tried to drag him away from the black pool, but Andy shook
them off.
"Let--me--alone!" he gasped, as he bent over the uninviting liquid and
drank deeply. "It's water, I tell you--good water--and I'm
almost--dead--from--thirst!"
"Water? Is that water?" cried Jack.
"Well, it's the nearest thing to it that I've tasted since I've been
lost on the moon," spoke Andy, as he slowly arose. "My, but that was
good!" he added fervently.
"But--water?" gasped Mark. "How can there be water here?"
"Taste and see," invited the old hunter.
They hesitated a moment, and then followed his example. The
liquid--water it evidently had once been--had a peculiar taste, but it
was not bad. By some curious chemical action, which they never
understood, the liquid had been prevented from evaporating, nor was it
frozen or petrified as was everything else on the moon.
What gave the liquid its peculiar black color they could not learn.
Sufficient for them that it was capable of quenching their thirst, and
they all drank deeply and refilled their bottles.
"Now, I feel like eating again," spoke Andy, "We can take some of this
back with us, and have a good meal on blasted meat. Whenever we get
thirsty we'll have to make a trip back here for water."
The boys agreed with him. They examined the black pool. It appeared to
be filled by hidden springs, though there was no bubbling, and the
surface was as unruffled as a mirror. The liquid was not very inviting,
being as black as ink, but the color appeared to be a sort of
reflection, for when the water, if such it was, had been put into
bottles it at once became clear, nor did it stain their faces or hands.
"Well, it's another queer thing in this queer moon," said Jack. "I wish
the two professors could see this place. They'd have lots to write
about."
"I wonder if we'll ever see them again?" asked Mark.
"Sure," replied Jack hopefully. "We'll fill our lunch baskets, take a
lot of water along, and have another hunt for the projectile soon."
They did, but with no success. For several days more they lived in the
petrified city, the meat encased in its block of stone, which Andy
blasted from time to time, and the black water keeping them alive. From
time to time they went out in the surrounding country, looking for the
projectile. But they could not find the place where they had left it,
nor could they find even the place where they had picked up the lost
tool that had cost them so much suffering. They were more completely
lost than ever. They crossed back and forth on the bridge over the
crater chasm, and penetrated for many miles in a radius from that,
marking their way by chipping off pieces of the rocky pinnacles, as
they did not want to leave the petrified city behind.
From some peaks they caught glimpses of other towns that had fallen
under the strange spell of the petrification. Some were larger and some
smaller than the one they called "home."
Jack proposed visiting some of them, thinking they might find better
food, but Mark and Andy decided it was best to stay where they were, as
they were nearer the supposed location of the projectile.
"I think they'll manage to fix it up somehow, so it will move," said
Andy, "and then they'll come to look for us. I hope it will be soon,
though."
"Why?" asked Jack, struck by something in the tone of the old hunter.
"Because," replied Andy, "I am afraid our life-torches won't last much
longer. Mine seems to be weakening. I have to hold it very close to my
face now to breathe in comfort, while at first the oxygen from it was
so strong that I could hold it two feet off and never notice the
poisonous moon vapors."
This was a new danger, and, thinking of it, the faces of the boys
became graver than ever. Death seemed bound to get them somehow.
Two more days went by. They had now been lost on the moon over a week.
Each one now noticed that his life-torch was weakening. How much longer
would they last? They dared not answer that question. They could only
hope.
The sun, too, was moving away from them. Soon the long night would set
in. By Mark's computation there was only three more days of daylight
left. What would happen in the desolate darkness?
As they were returning from the black pool, with their water bottles
filled, and put inside the fur bags to prevent the frost from reaching
them, Mark happened to gaze over across a line of towering peaks. What
he saw caused him to gasp in astonishment.
"Jack! Andy! See!" he whispered hoarsely, pointing a trembling finger
at the sky.
There, outlined against the cloudless heavens, was a long, black shape,
floating through the air about two miles distant.
"The projectile! The _Annihilator!_" yelled Jack. "Shout! Call to them!
Wave your hands! Andy, fire your gun! They have started off, and they
can't see us. We must make them hear!"
Together they raised their voices in a mighty shout. The old hunter
fired his gun several times. They waved their hands frantically.
But the projectile never swerved from its course. On it moved slowly,
those in it paying no heed to the wanderers, for they did not hear
them. Andy fired his gun again, but the signal failed, and a few
minutes later the _Annihilator_ was lost to sight behind a great peak.