Books: The Moon Metal
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Garrett P. Serviss >> The Moon Metal
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"Of course, Captain Carter's suggestion that Syx turned molten
artemisium from his furnace into a hose-pipe and sprayed the enemy
with it is ridiculous. But it is much easier to dismiss Carter's
theory than to substitute a better one. I saw the doctor on the roof
with a gang of black workmen, and I noticed the flash of polished
metal turned rapidly this way and that, but there was some intervening
obstacle which prevented me from getting a good view of the mechanism
employed. It certainly bore no resemblance to a hose-pipe, or anything
of that kind. No emanation was visible from the machine, but it was
stupefying to see the mob melt down."
"How about the coating of the bodies with artemisium?"
"There you are back on the hose-pipe again," laughed Hall. "But, to
tell you the truth, I'd rather be excused from expressing an opinion
on that operation in wholesale electro-plating just at present. I've
the ghost of an idea what it means, but let me test my theory a little
before I formulate it. In the meanwhile, won't you take a stroll with
me?"
"Certainly; nothing could please me better," I replied. "Which way
shall we go?"
"To the top of the Grand Teton."
"What! are you seized with the mountain-climbing fever?"
"Not exactly, but I have a particular reason for wishing to take a
look from that pinnacle."
"I suppose you know the real apex of the peak has never been trodden
by man?"
"I do know it, but it is just that apex that I am determined to have
under my feet for ten minutes. The failure of others is no argument
for us."
"Just as you say," I rejoined. "But I suppose there is no indiscretion
in asking whether this little climb has any relation to the mystery?"
"If it didn't have an important relation to the clearing up of that
dark thing I wouldn't risk my neck in such an undertaking," was the
reply.
Accordingly, the next morning we set out for the peak. All previous
climbers, as we were aware, had attacked it from the west. That seemed
the obvious thing to do, because the westward slopes of the mountain,
while very steep, are less abrupt than those which face the rising
sun. In fact, the eastern side of the Grand Teton appears to be
absolutely unclimbable. But both Hall and I had had experience with
rock climbing in the Alps and the Dolomites, and we knew that what
looked like the hardest places sometimes turn out to be next to the
easiest. Accordingly we decided--the more particularly because it
would save time, but also because we yielded to the common desire to
outdo our predecessors--to try to scale the giant right up his face.
We carried a very light but exceedingly strong rope, about five
hundred feet long, wore nail-shod shoes, and had each a metal-pointed
staff and a small hatchet in lieu of the regular mountaineer's
axe. Advancing at first along the broken ridge between two gorges we
gradually approached the steeper part of the Teton, where the cliffs
looked so sheer and smooth that it seemed no wonder that nobody had
ever tried to scale them. The air was deliciously clear and the sky
wonderfully blue above the mountains, and the moon, a few days past
its last quarter, was visible in the southwest, its pale crescent face
slightly blued by the atmosphere, as it always appears when seen in
daylight.
"Slow westering, a phantom sail--
The lonely soul of yesterday."
Behind us, somewhat north of east, lay the Syx works, with their black
smoke rising almost vertically in the still air. Suddenly, as we
stumbled along on the rough surface, something whizzed past my face
and fell on the rock at my feet. I looked at the strange missile, that
had come like a meteor out of open space, with astonishment.
It was a bird, a beautiful specimen of the scarlet tanagers, which I
remembered the early explorers had found inhabiting the Teton canyons,
their brilliant plumage borrowing splendor from contrast with the
gloomy surroundings. It lay motionless, its outstretched wings having
a curious shrivelled aspect, while the flaming color of the breast was
half obliterated with smutty patches. Stooping to pick it up, I
noticed a slight bronzing, which instantly recalled to my mind the
peculiar appearance of the victims of the attack on the mine.
"Look here!" I called to Hall, who was several yards in advance. He
turned, and I held up the bird by a wing.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"It fell at my feet a moment ago."
Hall glanced in a startled manner at the sky, and then down the slope
of the mountain.
"Did you notice in what direction it was flying?" he asked.
"No, it dropped so close that it almost grazed my nose. I saw nothing
of it until it made me blink."
"I have been heedless," muttered Hall under his breath. At the time I
did not notice the singularity of his remark, my attention being
absorbed in contemplating the unfortunate tanager.
"Look how its feathers are scorched," I said.
"I know it," Hall replied, without glancing at the bird.
"And it is covered with a film of artemisium," I added, a little
piqued by his abstraction.
"I know that, too."
"See here, Hall," I exclaimed, "are you trying to make game of me?"
"Not at all, my dear fellow," he replied, dropping his
cogitation. "Pray forgive me. But this is no new phenomenon to me. I
have picked up birds in that condition on this mountain before. There
is a terrible mystery here, but I am slowly letting light into it, and
if we succeed in reaching the top of the peak I have good hope that
the illumination will increase."
"Here now," he added a moment later, sitting down upon a rock and
thrusting the blade of his penknife into a crevice, "what do you think
of this?"
He held up a little nugget of pure artemisium, and then went on:
"You know that all this slope was swept as clean as a Dutch
housewife's kitchen floor by the thousands of miners and prospectors
who swarmed over it a year or two ago, and do you suppose they would
have missed such a tidbit if it had been here then?"
"Dr. Syx must have been salting the mountain again," I suggested.
"Well," replied Hall, with a significant smile, "if the doctor hasn't
salted it somebody else has, that's plain enough. But perhaps you
would like to know precisely what I expect to find out when we get on
the topknot of the Teton."
"I should certainly be delighted to learn the object of our journey,"
I said. "Of course, I'm only going along for company and for the fun
of the thing; but you know you can count on me for substantial aid
whenever you need it."
"It is because you are so willing to let me keep my own counsel," he
rejoined, "and to wait for things to ripen before compelling me to
disclose them, that I like to have you with me at critical times. Now,
as to the object of this break-neck expedition, whose risks you
understand as fully as I do, I need not assure you that it is of
supreme importance to the success of my plans. In a word, I hope to be
able to look down into a part of Dr. Syx's mill which, if I am not
mistaken, no human eye except his and those of his most trustworthy
helpers has ever been permitted to see. And if I see there what I
fully expect to see, I shall have got a long step nearer to a great
fortune."
"Good!" I cried. "_En avant_, then! We are losing time."
X
THE TOP OF THE GRAND TETON
The climbing soon became difficult, until at length we were going up
hand over hand, taking advantage of crevices and knobs which an
inexperienced eye would have regarded as incapable of affording a grip
for the fingers or a support for the toes. Presently we arrived at the
foot of a stupendous precipice, which was absolutely insurmountable by
any ordinary method of ascent. Parts of it overhung, and everywhere
the face of the rock was too free from irregularities to afford any
footing, except to a fly.
"Now, to borrow the expression of old Bunyan, we are hard put to it,"
I remarked. "If you will go to the left I will take the right and see
if there is any chance of getting up."
"I don't believe we could find any place easier than this," Hall
replied, "and so up we go where we are."
"Have you a pair of wings concealed about you?" I asked, laughing at
his folly.
"Well, something nearly as good," he responded, unstrapping his
knapsack. He produced a silken bag, which he unfolded on the rock.
"A balloon!" I exclaimed. "But how are you going to inflate it?"
For reply Hall showed me a receptacle which, he said, contained liquid
hydrogen, and which was furnished with a device for retarding the
volatilization of the liquid so that it could be carried with little
loss.
"You remember I have a small laboratory in the abandoned mine," he
explained, "where we used to manufacture liquid air for blasting. This
balloon I made for our present purpose. It will just suffice to carry
up our rope, and a small but practically unbreakable grapple of
hardened gold. I calculate to send the grapple to the top of the
precipice with the balloon, and when it has obtained a firm hold in
the riven rock there we can ascend, sailor fashion. You see the rope
has knots, and I know your muscles are as trustworthy in such work as
my own."
There was a slight breeze from the eastward, and the current of air
slanting up the face of the peak assisted the balloon in mounting with
its burden, and favored us by promptly swinging the little airship,
with the grapple swaying beneath it, over the brow of the cliff into
the atmospheric eddy above. As soon as we saw that the grapple was
well over the edge we pulled upon the rope. The balloon instantly shot
into view with the anchor dancing, but, under the influence of the
wind, quickly returned to its former position behind the projecting
brink. The grapple had failed to take hold.
"'Try, try again' must be our motto now," muttered Hall.
We tried several times with the same result, although each time we
slightly shifted our position. At last the grapple caught.
"Now, all together!" cried my companion, and simultaneously we threw
our weight upon the slender rope. The anchor apparently did not give
an inch.
"Let me go first," said Hall, pushing me aside as I caught the first
knot above my head. "It's my device, and it's only fair that I should
have the first try."
In a minute he was many feet up the wall, climbing swiftly hand over
hand, but occasionally stopping and twisting his leg around the rope
while he took breath.
"It's easier than I expected," he called down, when he had ascended
about one hundred feet. "Here and there the rock offers a little hold
for the knees."
I watched him, breathless with anxiety, and, as he got higher, my
imagination pictured the little gold grapple, invisible above the brow
of the precipice, with perhaps a single thin prong wedged into a
crevice, and slowly ploughing its way towards the edge with each
impulse of the climber, until but another pull was needed to set it
flying! So vivid was my fancy that I tried to banish it by noticing
that a certain knot in the rope remained just at the level of my eyes,
where it had been from the start. Hall was now fully two hundred feet
above the ledge on which I stood, and was rapidly nearing the top of
the precipice. In a minute more he would be safe.
Suddenly he shouted, and, glancing up with a leap of the heart, I saw
that he was falling! He kept his face to the rock, and came down feet
foremost. It would be useless to attempt any description of my
feelings; I would not go through that experience again for the price
of a battleship. Yet it lasted less than a second. He had dropped not
more than ten feet when the fall was arrested.
"All right!" he called, cheerily. "No harm done! It was only a slip."
But what a slip! If the balloon had not carried the anchor several
yards back from the edge it would have had no opportunity to catch
another hold as it shot forward. And how could we know that the second
hold would prove more secure than the first? Hall did not hesitate,
however, for one instant. Up he went again. But, in fact, his best
chance was in going up, for he was within four yards of the top when
the mishap occurred. With a sigh of relief I saw him at last throw his
arm over the verge and then wriggle his body upon the ledge. A few
seconds later he was lying on his stomach, with his face over the
edge, looking down at me.
"Come on!" he shouted. "It's all right."
When I had pulled myself over the brink at his side I grasped his hand
and pressed it without a word. We understood one another.
"It was pretty close to a miracle," he remarked at last. "Look at
this."
The rock over which the grapple had slipped was deeply scored by the
unyielding point of the metal, and exactly at the verge of the
precipice the prong had wedged itself into a narrow crack, so firmly
that we had to chip away the stone in order to release it. If it had
slipped a single inch farther before taking hold it would have been
all over with my friend.
Such experiences shake the strongest nerves, and we sat on the shelf
we had attained for fully a quarter of an hour before we ventured to
attack the next precipice which hung beetling directly above us. It
was not as lofty as the one we had just ascended, but it impended to
such a degree that we saw we should have to climb our rope while it
swung free in the air!
Luckily we had little difficulty in getting a grip for the prongs, and
we took every precaution to test the security of the anchorage, not
only putting our combined weight repeatedly upon the rope, but
flipping and jerking it with all our strength. The grapple resisted
every effort to dislodge it, and finally I started up, insisting on my
turn as leader.
The height I had to ascend did not exceed one hundred feet, but that
is a very great distance to climb on a swinging rope, without a wall
within reach to assist by its friction and occasional friendly
projections. In a little while my movements, together with the effect
of the slight wind, had imparted a most distressing oscillation to the
rope. This sometimes carried me with a nerve-shaking bang against a
prominent point of the precipice, where I would dislodge loose
fragments that kept Hall dodging for his life, and then I would swing
out, apparently beyond the brow of the cliff below, so that, as I
involuntarily glanced downward, I seemed to be hanging in free space,
while the steep mountain-side, looking ten times steeper than it
really was, resembled the vertical wall of an absolutely bottomless
abyss, as if I were suspended over the edge of the world.
I avoided thinking of what the grapple might be about, and in my haste
to get through with the awful experience I worked myself fairly out of
breath, so that, when at last I reached the rounded brow of the cliff,
I had to stop and cling there for fully a minute before I could summon
strength enough to lift myself over it.
When I was assured that the grapple was still securely fastened I
signalled to Hall, and he soon stood at my side, exclaiming, as he
wiped the perspiration from his face:
"I think I'll try wings next time!"
But our difficulties had only begun. As we had foreseen, it was a case
of Alp above Alp, to the very limit of human strength and
patience. However, it would have been impossible to go back. In order
to descend the two precipices we had surmounted it would have been
necessary to leave our life-lines clinging to the rocks, and we had
not rope enough to do that. If we could not reach the top we were
lost.
Having refreshed ourselves with a bite to eat and a little stimulant,
we resumed the climb. After several hours of the most exhausting work
I have ever performed we pulled our weary limbs upon the narrow ridge,
but a few square yards in area, which constitutes the apex of the
Grand Teton. A little below, on the opposite side of a steep-walled
gap which divides the top of the mountain into two parts, we saw the
singular enclosure of stones which the early white explorers found
there, and which they ascribed to the Indians, although nobody has
ever known who built it or what purpose it served.
The view was, of course, superb, but while I was admiring it in all
its wonderful extent and variety, Hall, who had immediately pulled out
his binocular, was busy inspecting the Syx works, the top of whose
great tufted smoke column was thousands of feet beneath our
level. Jackson's Lake, Jenny's Lake, Leigh's Lake, and several
lakelets glittered in the sunlight amid the pale grays and greens of
Jackson's Hole, while many a bending reach of the Snake River shone
amid the wastes of sage-brush and rock.
"There!" suddenly exclaimed Hall, "I thought I should find it."
"What?"
"Take a look through my glass at the roof of Syx's mill. Look just in
the centre."
"Why, it's open in the middle!" I cried as soon as I had put the glass
to my eyes. "There's a big circular hole in the centre of the roof,"
"Look inside! Look inside!" repeated Hall, impatiently.
"I see nothing there except something bright."
"Do you call it nothing because it is bright?"
"Well, no," I replied, laughing. "What I mean is that I see nothing
that I can make anything of except a shining object, and all I can
make of that is that it is bright."
"You've been in the Syx works many times, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever see the opening in the roof?"
"Never."
"Did you ever hear of it?"
"Never."
"Then Dr. Syx doesn't show his visitors everything that is to be
seen."
"Evidently not since, as we know, he concealed the double tunnel and
the room under the furnace."
"Dr. Syx has concealed a bigger secret than that," Hall responded,
"and the Grand Teton has helped me to a glimpse of it."
For several minutes my friend was absorbed in thought. Then he broke
out:
"I tell you he's the most wonderful man in the world!"
"Who, Dr. Syx? Well, I've long thought that."
"Yes, but I mean in a different way from what you are thinking of. Do
you remember my asking you once if you believed in alchemy?"
"I remember being greatly surprised by your question to that effect."
"Well, now," said Hall, rubbing his hands with a satisfied air, while
his eyes glanced keen and bright with the reflection of some passing
thought, "Max Syx is greater than any alchemist that ever lived. If
those old fellows in the dark ages had accomplished everything they
set out to do, they would have been of no more consequence in
comparison with our black-browed friend down yonder than--than my head
is of consequence in comparison with the moon."
"I fear you flatter the man in the moon," was my laughing reply.
"No, I don't," returned Hall, "and some day you'll admit it."
"Well, what about that something that shines down there? You seem to
see more in it than I can."
But my companion had fallen into a reverie and didn't hear my
question. He was gazing abstractedly at the faint image of the waning
moon, now nearing the distant mountain-top over in Idaho. Presently
his mind seemed to return to the old magnet, and he whirled about and
glanced down at the Syx mill. The column of smoke was diminishing in
volume, an indication that the engine was about to enjoy one of its
periodical rests. The irregularity of these stoppages had always been
a subject of remark among practical engineers. The hours of labor were
exceedingly erratic, but the engine had never been known to work at
night, except on one occasion, and then only for a few minutes, when
it was suddenly stopped on account of a fire.
Just as Hall resumed his inspection two huge quarter spheres, which
had been resting wide apart on the roof, moved towards one another
until their arched sections met over the circular aperture which they
covered like the dome of an observatory.
"I expected it," Hall remarked. "But come, it is mid-afternoon, and we
shall need all of our time to get safely down before the light fades."
As I have already explained, it would not have been possible for us to
return the way we came. We determined to descend the comparatively
easy western slopes of the peak, and pass the night on that side of
the mountain. Letting ourselves down with the rope into the hollow way
that divides the summit of the Teton into two pinnacles, we had no
difficulty in descending by the route followed by all previous
climbers. The weather was fine, and, having found good shelter among
the rocks, we passed the night in comfort. The next day we succeeded
in swinging round upon the eastern flank of the Teton, below the more
formidable cliffs, and, just at nightfall, we arrived at the
station. As we passed the Syx mine the doctor himself confronted
us. There was a very displeasing look on his dark countenance, and his
sneer was strongly marked.
"So you have been on top of the Teton?" he said.
"Yes," replied Hall, very blandly, "and if you have a taste for that
sort of thing I should advise you to go up. The view is immense, as
fine as the best in the Alps."
"Pretty ingenious plan, that balloon of yours," continued the doctor,
still looking black.
"Thank you," Hall replied, more suavely than ever. "I've been planning
that a long time. You probably don't know that mountaineering used to
be my chief amusement."
The doctor turned away without pursuing the conversation.
"I could kick myself," Hall muttered as soon as Dr. Syx was out of
earshot. "If my absurd wish to outdo others had not blinded me, I
should have known that he would see us going up this side of the peak,
particularly with the balloon to give us away. However, what's done
can't be undone. He may not really suspect the truth, and if he does
he can't help himself, even though he is the richest man in the
world."
XI
STRANGE FATE OF A KITE
"Are you ready for another tramp?" was Andrew Hall's greeting when we
met early on the morning following our return from the peak.
"Certainly I am. What is your programme for to-day?"
"I wish to test the flying qualities of a kite which I have
constructed since our return last night."
"You don't allow the calls of sleep to interfere very much with your
activity."
"I haven't much time for sleep just now," replied Hall, without
smiling. "The kite test will carry us up the flanks of the Teton, but
I am not going to try for the top this time. If you will come along
I'll ask you to help me by carrying and operating a light transit I
shall carry another myself. I am desirous to get the elevation that
the kite attains and certain other data that will be of use to me. We
will make a detour towards the south, for I don't want old Syx's
suspicions to be prodded any more."
"What interest can he have in your kite-flying?"
"The same interest that a burglar has in the rap of a policeman's
night-stick."
"Then your experiment to-day has some connection with the solution of
the great mystery?"
"My dear fellow," said Hall, laying his hand on my shoulder, "until I
see the end of that mystery I shall think of nothing else."
In a few hours we were clambering over the broken rocks on the
south-eastern flank of the Teton at an elevation of about three
thousand feet above the level of Jackson's Hole. Finally Hall paused
and began to put his kite together. It was a small box-shaped affair,
very light in construction, with paper sides.
"In order to diminish the chances of Dr. Syx noticing what we are
about," he said, as he worked away, "I have covered the kite with
sky-blue paper. This, together with distance, will probably insure us
against his notice."
In a few minutes the kite was ready. Having ascertained the direction
of the wind with much attention, he stationed me with my transit on a
commanding rock, and sought another post for himself at a distance of
two hundred yards, which he carefully measured with a gold tape. My
instructions were to keep the telescope on the kite as soon as it had
attained a considerable height, and to note the angle of elevation and
the horizontal angle with the base line joining our points of
observation.
"Be particularly careful," was Hall's injunction, "and if anything
happens to the kite by all means note the angles at that instant."
As soon as we had fixed our stations Hall began to pay out the string,
and the kite rose very swiftly. As it sped away into the blue it was
soon practically invisible to the naked eye, although the telescope of
the transit enabled me to follow it with ease.
Glancing across now and then at my companion, I noticed that he was
having considerable difficulty in, at the same time, managing the kite
and manipulating his transit. But as the kite continued to rise and
steadied in position his task became easier, until at length he ceased
to remove his eye from the telescope while holding the string with
outstretched hand.
"Don't lose sight of it now for an instant!" he shouted.
For at least half an hour he continued to manipulate the string,
sending the kite now high towards the zenith with a sudden pull, and
then letting it drift off. It seemed at last to become almost a fixed
point. Very slowly the angles changed, when, suddenly, there was a
flash, and to my amazement I saw the paper of the kite shrivel and
disappear in a momentary flame, and then the bare sticks came tumbling
out of the sky.
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