The Moon Metal by Garrett Putman Serviss is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE DETECTIVE OF SCIENCE THE DETECTIVE OF SCIENCE The morning of my arrival at Grand Teton station, on my return from the East, Andrew Hall met me with a warm greeting. “I have been anxiously expecting you,” he said, “for I have made some progress towards solving the great mystery. I have not yet reached a conclusion, but I hope soon to let you into the entire secret. In the meantime you can aid me with your companionship, if in no other way, for, since the defeat of the mob, this place has been mighty lonesome. The Grand Teton is a spot that people who have no particular business out here carefully avoid. I am on speaking terms with Dr. Syx, and occasionally, when there is a party to be shown around, I visit his works, and make the best possible use of my eyes. Captain Carter of the military is a capital fellow, and I like to hear his stories of the war in Luzon forty years ago, but I want somebody to whom I can occasionally confide things, and so you are as welcome as moonlight in harvest-time.” “Tell me something about that wonderful fight with the mob. Did you see it?” “I did. I had got wind of what Bings intended to do while I was down at Pocotello, and I hurried up here to warn the soldiers, but unfortunately I came too late. Finding the military cooped up in the guard-house and the mob masters of the situation, I kept out of sight on the side of the Teton, and watched the siege with my binocular. I think there was very little of the spectacle that I missed.” “What of the mysterious force that the doctor employed to sweep off the assailants?” “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.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Garrett Putman Serviss (2005). The Moon Metal. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/8199/pg8199-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

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