Andy Sweet and the $20 Gold Piece

By Christopher Cloud

Andy Sweet is a kid without much going for him. His classmates have dubbed him “Duct Tape” because his tattered discount-store sneakers are held together with...you guessed it, duct tape. He can’t escape the bullying. Andy’s luck changes after he finds a $20 gold piece on the stream bed while swimming with his sister in a stream near their home. Andy later buys a $1 souvenir treasure map at the county fair. The map shows the route to the “lost treasure” of the notorious outlaw Jesse James. Andy can’t help but wonder: is there a link between the “fake” treasure map and the gold coin? He is determined to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Apr 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463507049

Christopher Cloud

Christopher Cloud began writing fiction full time in 2010 after a career in journalism and public relations. Christopher graduated from the University of Missouri with a degree in journalism. He has worked at newspapers in Texas, California, and Missouri. He worked for a major oil company, and later operated his own public relations agency. He created the board game Sixth Sense in 2003.

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About the Author

Christopher Cloud began writing fiction full time in 2010, after a career in journalism and public relations. Christopher graduated from the University of Missouri with a degree in journalism. He has worked at newspapers in Texas, California, and Missouri. He worked for a major oil company, and later operated his own public relations agency. He created the board game Sixth Sense in 2003.

Dedication

For my mother

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Andy Sweet and the $20 Gold Piece

Published by Austin Macauley at Smash words

Copyright 2018, Christopher Cloud

The right of Christopher Cloud Irving to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All Rights Reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is

Available from the British Library.

www.austinmacauley.com

Andy Sweet and the $20 Gold Piece, 2018

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

ISBN 978-1-78629-972-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-78629-973-4 (Kindle E-Book)

First Published in 2018

Austin Macauley Publishers.LTD/

CGC-33-01, 25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf, London E14 5LQ

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Acknowledgments

Thanks to the good people of McDonald County, Missouri, for staging their annual Jesse James Days Festival in Pineville. The three-day festival keeps alive the legend of Jesse James and his ‘lost treasure’, and gave me the inspiration to write this book.

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1

I thought I was drowning.

I was ten feet below the surface of the water and I was out of air. Totally. My lungs were screaming at me to suck in a big breath, and the muscles in my arms and legs were on fire. Pushing through the pain and the fear, I kicked and clawed at the water like a three-legged skunk. I expected my heart to explode.

I didn’t remember Harper’s Hole being this deep.

A headline in the Jamesville Times flashed before my eyes:

Local Boy, 12, Drowns in James Creek

I was hoping that if I did drown, Mom would bury me alongside Dad in James Cemetery, a tidy patch of green overlooking the creek. Maybe Father Joyce from our church could say a prayer or two.

I could see the splinters of sunlight glimmering on the surface of the creek above—I was only a measly breaststroke away from reaching it—when my brain flashed an urgent order: Breathe! Now! But I couldn’t. If I did, my lungs would fill with water and I would sink like a two-ton anchor.

Digging savagely at the water, I tried to ignore the command from my panicked brain, but it was so overpowering that I opened my mouth and gobbled a giant breath at the exact instant I broke through to the surface.

Air!

I gasped, drew a second mighty swallow of air, and then gasped again. Whew! It was close, but I had not drowned after all, and I lifted my fist in victory. In my fist was a reddish-brown stone I had found on the bottom. It was flat on both sides. A skipper.

Got one, Allie! I shouted to my sister, who stood watching wide-eyed on the riverbank above.

Awesome! Allie cried, pushing a tangle of hair away from the grin on her freckled face. She was about to burst. Now skip it, Andy!

With a practiced flick of my wrist, I skipped the stone across the shining face of James Creek. The stone danced over the water and onto a batch of rocks jutting out from the base of Bear Mountain.

Now it’s my turn! Allie squealed.

It’s too deep, Allie, I warned, shaking my head. I barely made it.

Maybe it’s too deep for you, but not for me, my sister boasted, peering into the pool of water.

This was Allie’s first trip to Harper’s Hole. Our mother had forbidden Allie from swimming there with me until she was eight. Allie turned eight last month.

I can see the bottom from here, Allie noted, peeking over the embankment and giving the deep hole a second look. Slivers of sunlight reflected off the surface of the water like pea-sized diamonds. It’s not that deep.

I’m telling you, Allie, it’s deeper than it looks.

I’m a good swimmer, Allie insisted. In fact, I bet I’m a lot better swimmer than you were when you were my age. Allie had taken swimming lessons the summer before at the Jamesville city pool.

I gave a big sigh. I could see that it was going to be a long and complicated argument. I said, What happens if you can’t hold your breath?

So what? Allie said. I’ll just turn around and swim back to the top.

Okay, but what happens if you swallow a bunch of water? You could get choked.

Allie had an answer for everything. I won’t swallow any water if I keep my mouth shut.

Yeah, but what happens if you get dizzy and pass out?

Allie frowned. Pass out?

I had finally gotten her attention.

Yeah, like going unconscious, I said, trying to sound serious. You could drown.

If I get dizzy and go unconscious—she had mangled the word unconscious—you can dive down and save me.

I didn’t say anything. I was fresh out of reasons why Allie shouldn’t try swimming to the bottom of Harper’s Hole.

Allie took a step closer to the steep riverbank and gave the deep hole a final inspection. Is the water cold?

Was that doubt I heard in her voice?

Yeah, it’s cold at first, but the cold doesn’t last long, I said, I was cold before, but not now.

Are you warm?

No, but I’m not cold, either.

Allie blew out a puff of air and slipped out of her flip flops. You promise to save me if I go unconscious? She mangled the word again.

Yeah, I promise, I pledged, treading water in the middle of the creek

Allie stepped over to the cottonwood tree and wrapped her fingers around the tattered rope hanging from one of the thick upper branches. Hitching up one sagging strap of her polka-dot bathing suit, rope in hand, she took four giant steps backward, paused, took four giants steps forward—she was back where she started—and then paused again.

Andy, how long will it take to get used to the cold water?

Maybe a minute.

Allie raised her hand and shaded her eyes from the sun, then gazed up at the limb holding the rope. She tugged on the rope to test its strength.

I watched quietly as my sister gathered her courage. I could tell from the way Allie was chewing on the knuckle of her thumb that she was having second thoughts.

A dragonfly sailed past and I splashed water at it.

Are there any of those hungry fish down there? Allie asked.

I groaned. What the heck are you talking about? Allie was testing my patience, which was typical.

Those fish we saw on television. The ones that eat people.

Allie, I said, fighting the urge to laugh, are you going to jump in or not?

My sister stood motionless waiting for an answer. Still grasping the rope, she folded her arms across her chest. I’d seen that look before. We were at a stalemate.

I rolled my eyes and said, Do you actually think I’d be swimming in this river if there were piranhas? There aren’t any piranhas within a thousand miles of Harper’s—

I left the thought dangling in the air because the traffic light inside Allie’s head had finally turned green and she had shoved the pedal all the way to the floor. Holding tight to the frayed rope, she made a hobbled dash for the river. When she reached the edge of the steep clay embankment her feet left the ground and she swung out over the water like some circus performer. Allie uttered a loud, terrified scream, released her grip, and dropped with a noisy splash in the middle of the stream.

It was May and James Creek was as cold as winter ice.

Allie popped to the surface like a human cork—a frozen human cork. Her eyes had doubled in size and she struggled to draw a full breath. Cold! she shrieked.

I had never seen my sister’s eyes so wide. She had frog eyes, and the pained look on her face was nothing short of hilarious. I couldn’t help myself and I threw back my head with a burst of laughter.

Stop laughing! Allie howled.

I hadn’t meant to make light of my sister’s suffering—the sudden chill of James Creek had been just as agonizing for me—and I trapped another laugh-bubble with my hand, and then said, It’s not cold for very long. Like I said, maybe a minute. I swam over to her and in a comforting voice said, Less than a minute now. Maybe 45 seconds. I felt guilty for laughing.

P-P-Promise? Allie was blinking like a lizard.

Yeah, I promise. Now maybe 30 seconds.

C-C-Cold! Allie’s teeth were chattering.

In a few minutes Allie got used to the cold water, and she drew a big breath of air, ducked below the surface of James Creek, and began swimming toward the bottom of Harper’s Hole, her thin little arms and one good leg thrashing the water.

I watched my sister’s flickering image for any signs of trouble.

I had recovered my first stone from the bottom of Harper’s Hole the summer before, when I was 11. Not only had I pried a colorful stone from the watery floor of James Creek, but I had discovered an underground spring that fed into Harper’s Hole from the base of Bear Mountain. That’s why the deep hole was so cold. It was spring-fed.

That’s deep enough, Allie, I told myself as I watched my sister’s progress…or lack of progress. She was no more than five feet below the surface of the water. Allie’s bad leg was throwing her off course, and she was going more sideways than down.

Harper’s Hole was a special swimming place revealed to us by our father the same year he died, three years earlier. The swimming hole was located at the end of an old animal trail not far from Jamesville. People said bears roamed the woods, but I had never seen one.

Allie popped to the surface.

It’s too deep, Andy! she cried, gasping for air. I can’t hold my breath…

I told you it was deep, I reminded my sister.

Allie’s plum-colored lips began to quiver. Now I’ll never get…get a skipper. Her dark eyes turned misty.

Sure you will.

How?

I’ll get one for you.

Promise? she asked in a choked voice.

I nodded. Promise.

A skipper? Her teary eyes began to shine.

Yeah, a skipper.

I flashed Allie a grin, sucked in an enormous breath of air, then dived toward the bottom. I could see the hollowed-out riverbed in the clear, cold waters of James Creek. The afternoon sunlight reflected a rainbow of bright colors off its pebbled face, and it seemed like a person could reach out and touch the bottom. It looked close. But I knew better. It wasn’t close. It was deep—nearly twenty feet. One of the deepest holes in James Creek.

Halfway down, my lungs began to burn, just as they had on my earlier dive, and a desperate urge to return to the surface pounded away inside my head. But I pushed the thought of quitting out of my mind—this dive was for Allie—and I swam deeper, releasing all my air in a bubbled spurt.

A sunfish darted past.

I was deep now, so deep that I could feel the icy current of spring water gushing from the wide gash in the side of Bear Mountain. Another few feet and I would snatch up my prize. I had already spotted it amongst the colorful stones that were lying like a blanket of jewels on the palm-shaped river bottom. The stone was bright gold.

I gave one last desperate kick and I was there.

Stretching my arm into the bed of shiny pebbles and stones, I pulled loose the bright golden one. The water blurred my eyes so I couldn’t see the stone all that well, but I could tell from the feel that it was a perfect skipper. It was flat on both sides. Allie would love it.

Clutching the stone, I swam out of the deep hole, up toward the sunlight, breaking the surface with a giant smile.

Got one, Allie! I cried, sucking in a big breath and holding my prize above my head.

Let me see! she cheered, swimming over to me.

Treading water, I inspected the stone.

But what I held in my hand was not a stone.

It’s a coin, I observed softly. It glistened in the Missouri sunshine.

It was unlike any coin I had ever seen.

A…coin? Allie asked, wrinkling her nose. She squeezed in for a better look.

Yeah, I think so.

On one side of the coin were the words United States of America inscribed around the rim. In the center of the coin was a fancy picture of an eagle. Beneath the eagle were the words Twenty Dollars.

Wicked, I muttered.

I turned the coin over. On the opposite side was an engraving of a woman’s face—she was wearing a crown. The word Liberty was written across the front of her crown.

Yeah, Allie, a coin, I said.

There were tiny stars around the rim of the coin. I counted thirteen. Probably for the thirteen colonies, I guessed. The date was engraved below the woman’s face: 1879. The letters CC were beside the date.

What kind of coin? Allie said, her eyes flickering with curiosity.

Cool, I said in a hushed voice. A twenty-dollar gold piece.

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2

Mrs. Henshaw glanced up from her computer screen. Andy Sweet. You lost, child?

I don’t think so, I said, cracking a grin. This is still the Media Center isn’t it?

She stretched her mouth into a wide frown. Okay, Andy, enough with the jokes.