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Hugh felt as if she were mocking him, but he yielded, while like a gleam of lightning the shadow of a suspicion flitted across his mind. It was a loud, shrill whistle, penetrating even to the woods, and the instant the old familiar sound fell on Rocket's ear he went tearing around the house, answering that call with the neigh he had been wont to give when summoned by his master.
There was a flurry of the most brilliant imaginable carmine flame. That light remained. But the rocket did not so much rise as disappear. Cochrane jerked his head up. He was close to the line of the rocket's ascent. He could see a trail of red sparks which stretched to invisibility. It was an extraordinarily thin line. The separate flecks of crimson light which comprised it were distant in space.
Fuel poured into the combustion chamber and fantastically hot exhaust gases flared from the motor exhaust. And with each passing second thrust built up inside the motor chamber. When the thrust exceeded the rocket's weight, Pegasus would take off! He knew it wouldn't be long. Seconds more. The entire rocket screamed as vibration ran in torturing waves through its metal skeleton and skin.
He was enthralled by the activity in the blockhouse, and, careful to keep out of the way, he walked from station to station. Now and then he looked through the thick glass ports, and he saw the green mist of boron hydride as fuel throbbed slowly into the rocket's tanks. A thin, bald scientist in a scarlet sports shirt picked up a microphone and spoke into it.
Mike took acceleration better than the others, but his voice was thin when he gasped, "Looks like this does it, Joe!" Seconds later he gasped again, "Right! The rocket's above us and still going away!" The gyros squealed again. The ship plunged into vapor which was the trail of the enemy rocket. For an instant the flowing confusion which was Earth was blotted out. Then it was visible again.
It was his inquiry that made him the centre of interest at once. "Mrs. Henderson?" said Silas, as he set the whiskey before his customer. "Guess that's her shanty yonder." And he pointed through the window nearest him. "Freight?" he inquired casually, after the little man had taken his bearings. "Sure. Harmonium." "Eh?" Rocket's astonishment was reflected in all the faces now crowding round.
The British fired bomb-shells and rockets at the fort. When these burst, they made a light. By this light Key could see that the little fort was still standing. He could see the flag still waving over it. He tells this in his song in these words: "And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there."
There is a constant wind away from the sunlight zone at high level, heated air that has been lifted, and there is a wind at a lower level out of the dark zone, coming in to replace it. We'd gotten completely above the latter and into the former. There was some yelling outside, and then I could hear Hans Cronje: "Rocket's ready for vertical launching.
"None of yer ars," Claib said, coaxingly, as the animal threw up its graceful neck defiantly. "You've got to git along, 'case Mas'r Hugh say so. You knows Mas'r Hugh." "What is it?" Hugh asked, coming out upon the stoop, and comprehending the trouble at a glance. "Rocket, Rocket," he cried, "easy, my boy," and in an instant Rocket's defiant attitude changed to one of perfect obedience.
"We've had quite an adventure," replied Dick, and related the particulars. Larry's ankle was somewhat better, and by leaning on both Dick and Peterson he managed to hobble along to where the Rocket's small boat had landed them. The steam tug was close at hand, and they were soon on board. "Is the screw repaired?" was Dick's first question.
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