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? CHAPTER XIII A DIREFUL THREAT Perhaps Washington White's Shanghai rooster did not care to make the trip to the moon, or perhaps the fowl had not yet seen enough of this earth. At any rate, when he flew from the projectile, uttering loud crows, and landed some distance away, he began to run back toward the coop in the rear of the yard. "Cotch him, cotch him!" yelled the colored man. "Dat's a valuable bird!" "We'll get him when he goes in the coop," said Jack, who found it difficult to run and laugh at the same time. "Shall I fire my rifle off and scare him?" asked Andy Sudds. "No, you might kill him or scare him t' death," objected Washington. "Come on, Mark, and help," cried Jack, looking toward the projectile, where a figure was peering from the glass-covered port of the main cabin.