"Rad is nervous," remarked Tom. "He doesn't like this gun. Well, it certainly does great execution."
"How does it work'" asked Ned, as he looked at the curious gun. The electric weapon was not unlike an ordinary heavy rifle in appearance save that the barrel was a little longer, and the stock larger in every way. There were also a number of wheels, levers, gears and gages on the stock.
"It works by electricity," explained Tom.
"That is, the force comes from a powerful current of stored electricity."
"Oh, then you have storage batteries in the stock?"
"Not exactly. There are no batteries, but the current is a sort of wireless kind. It is stored in a cylinder, just as compressed air or gases are stored, and can be released as I need it."
"And when it's all gone, what do you do?"
"Make more power by means of a small dynamo."
"And does it shoot lead bullets?"
"Not at all. There are no bullets used."
"Then how does it kill?"
"By means of a concentrated charge of electricity which is shot from the barrel with great force. You can't see it, yet it is there. It's just as if you concentrated a charge of electricity of five thousand volts into a small globule the size of a bullet. That flies through space, strikes the object aimed at and--well, we'll see what it does in a minute. Mr. Jackson, just put that steel plate up in front of the scarecrow; will you?"
The engineer proceeded to put into place a section of steel armor-plate before the stuffed figure.
"You don't mean to say you're going to shoot through that, do you?"
asked Ned in surprise.
"Surely. The electric bullets will pierce anything. They'll go through a brick wall as easily as the x-rays do. That's one valuable feature of my rifle. You don't have to see the object you aim at. In fact you can fire through a house, and kill something on the other side."
"I should think that would be dangerous."
"It would be, only I can calculate exactly, by means of an automatic arrangement, just how far the charge of electricity will go. It stops short just at the limit of the range, and is not effective beyond that. Otherwise, if I did not limit it and if I fired at the scarecrow, through the piece of steel, and the bullet hit the figure, it would go on, passing through whatever else was in the way, until its power was lost. I use the term 'bullet,' though as I said, it isn't properly one."
"By Jove, Tom, it certainly is a dangerous weapon!"
"Yes, the range-limit idea is a new one. That's what I've been working on lately. There are other features of the gun which I'll explain later, particularly the power it has to shoot out luminous bars of light. But now we'll see what it will do to the image."
Tom took his place at the end of the range, and began to adjust some valves and levers. In spite of the fact that the gun was larger than an ordinary rifle, it was not as heavy as the United States Army weapon.
Tom aimed at the armor-plate, and, by means of an arrangement on the rifle, he could tell exactly when he was pointing at the scarecrow, even though he could not see it.
"Here she goes!" he suddenly exclaimed.
Ned watched his chum. The young inventor pressed a small button at the side of the rifle barrel, about where the trigger should have been. There was no sound, no smoke, no flame and not the slightest jar.
Yet as Ned watched he saw the steel plate move slightly. The next instant the scarecrow figure seemed to fly all to pieces. There was a shower of straw, rags and old clothes, which fell in a shapeless heap at the end of the range.
"Say. I guess you did for that fellow, all right!" exclaimed Ned.
"It looks so," admitted Tom, with a note of pride in his voice. "Now we'll try another test."
As he laid aside his rifle in order to help Mr. Jackson shift the steel plate there was a series of yells outside the shed.
"What's that?" asked Tom, in some alarm.
"Sounds like some one calling," answered Ned.
"It is," agreed Mr. Jackson. "Perhaps Eradicate's mule has gotten loose. I guess we'd better--"
He did not finish, for the shouts increased in volume, and Tom and Ned could hear some one yelling:
"I'll have the law on you for this! I'll have you arrested, Tom Swift! What do you mean by trying to kill me? Where are you? Don't try to hide away, now. You were trying to shoot me, and I'm not going to have it!"
Some one pounded on the door of the shed.
"It's Barney Moker!" exclaimed Tom. "I wonder what can have happened?"
CHAPTER III
A DIFFICULT TEST
Tom Swift opened the door of the improvised rifle gallery and looked out. By the light of a full moon, which shone down from a cloudless sky, he saw a man standing at the portal. The man's face was distorted with rage, and he shook his fist at the young inventor.
"What do you mean by shooting at me?" he demanded. "What do you mean, I say? The idea of scaring honest folks out of their wits, and making 'em think the end of the world has come! What do you mean by it? Why don't you answer me? I say, Tom Swift, why don't you answer me?"
"Because you don't give me a chance, Mr. Moker," replied our hero.
"I want to know why you shot at me? I demand to know!" and Mr.
Moker, who was a sort of miserly town character, living all alone in a small house, just beyond Tom's home, again shook his fist almost in the lad's face. "Why don't you tell me? Why don't you tell me?"
he shouted.
"I will, if you give me a chance!" fairly exploded Tom. "If you can be cool for five minutes, and come inside and tell me what happened I'll be glad to answer any of your questions, Mr. Moker. I didn't shoot at you."
"Yes, you did! You tried to shoot a hole through me!"
"Tell me about it?" suggested Tom, as the excited man calmed down somewhat. "Are you hurt?"
"No, but it isn't your fault that I'm not. You tried hard enough to hurt me. Here I am, sitting at my table reading, and, all at once something goes through the side of the house, whizzes past my ear, makes my hair fairly stand up on end, and goes outside the other side of the house. What kind of bullets do you use, Tom Swift?
that's what I want to know. They went through the side of my house, and never left a mark. I demand to know what kind they are."
"I'll tell you, if you'll only give me a chance," went on Tom wearily. "How do you know it was me shooting?"
"How do I know? Why, doesn't the end of this shooting gallery of yours point right at my house? Of course it does; you can't deny it!"