The two boys came out toward the mouth of Rock Creek and as the woods
thinned, they saw ahead of them a sandy sloping bank on which a small
boat was drawn up. Around the coals of a fire nearby, three men were
crouching. Remembering Mr. Wicker's warning to be cautious, Chris put
out a hand to touch Amos and the two stood still.
"Let's climb up a little above them," Chris suggested. "We're beyond
the bridge--they might be--well, we'd better be careful. I want to see
what they're doing before they see us."
Amos agreeing, the two boys, with extra care for rattling twigs, moved
stealthily up the banks of the Potomac that rose with increasing
steepness. The men, who were huddled near their fire now, came
directly into their view below, and Chris and Amos could see that they
were playing cards. One seemed to be losing to the other two. He had
piled a heap of his small possessions in front of him on the sand, in
lieu of money.
[Illustration]
They were certainly a villainous-looking trio. The boys could hear
some of their exclamations, and it was with a mingled feeling of
curiosity and uneasiness that Chris recognized the losing gambler to
be Simon Gosler, the humpbacked cripple.
"Come now, Gosler!" they heard one of the men cry out in annoyance,
"Pay up--you've lost!"
"I've no money to pay you," complained the sly voice of the cripple.
"I'm a poor man--well you know it. A cripple--just a poor old
cripple!"
"Ah--none o' that!" cut in the second winner. "We know how well you do
at your begging--more in a day than we get in a month's pay. Pay up
now, or it won't go well with you," he rasped out, laying his hand on
a dagger stuck into his belt.
"What about your glass, your spyglass, Gosler?" urged the first man.
"Put that up and it will cover your losses well enough!" he sneered,
but Simon Gosler hugged his coat to him and looked from side to side
searching for a way of escape.
"No, no, good fellows," he moaned, "not my glass. I won that from the
Captain himself three years ago, and that I never shall part from
willingly."
"You'd part from it for silver quick enough!" snarled the first
gambler, "and of that you must have plenty, for 'tis rare you ever
lose. Come now, we'll give you a few minutes more to make up your
mind, but make it up you must. Either the glass or silver, you may
choose."
The two gamblers rose menacingly and moved away to put their boat into
the stream. Simon Gosler was left mumbling and sniveling and fingering
his coat pocket, in which he kept his glass. Chris, watching him, had
a sudden inspiration and whispered to Amos. "Hide here behind those
bushes and don't follow me. Don't move or show yourself. I'm going to
have that glass."
So saying he moved carefully back until he was out of sight of Amos,
and then, for the first time on his own, he tried a change of shape.
Choosing a broad flat stone at the edge of the shrubbery and safely
removed from the sight of the two winners, he changed himself into a
silver coin and allowed himself to drop with a sweet metallic ring on
the stone, waiting winking in the sun for Simon Gosler. The old
cripple saw the coin before it had bounced twice on the stone, and
with a quick sly look over his shoulder at the backs of his companions
as they pushed at the boat, hoisted himself up on his crutch and began
hobbling over toward his find.
But instead of a coin, he found only a resolute boy awaiting him,
tossing and catching a silver piece. It was one of those Mr. Wicker
had given Chris but an hour before. He looked Simon Gosler in the eye.
"I've heard what went on, Simon Gosler," said Chris, his eyes on a
level with the rheumy watering eyes of the cripple, "and if you will
sell your spyglass to me, I'll buy it off you with this silver piece.
Otherwise you shall not have it."
Simon Gosler's eyes dripped tears of greed at the sight of the coin,
and then another expression washed over them. Fast as he was and fast
as was his movement, Chris was faster. As the old beggar braced
himself and brought the head of his crutch down where Chris's head
should have been, someone from behind dealt him a staggering blow with
a sizable club, and yet when he turned around no one was there. When
he faced about again, rubbing his head and whimpering with rage and
frustration, he found himself once more facing the boy who was
tossing and catching, tossing and catching, the round silver coin.
Chris stood with his legs apart, his head back, his eyes full of
scorn. His hand did not cease to toss and catch the silver piece.
"Well, you old villain," he challenged, "will you take the coin in
fair exchange, or shall I hit you again with that club you just felt?"
he asked. "It doesn't feel the same when you get it back as when you
give it out, does it, you old faker? Hurry up--your friends will soon
be coming back, and I don't think they intend to argue," he added.
[Illustration]
Gosler, still rubbing his head and muttering, finally spoke. "Very
well, you nasty young man, I'll sell my glass. Give me the coin!" and
he stretched out a dirty claw.
"Oh no!" Chris shook his head decisively. "No indeed! You put the
glass down between us--carefully, mind you--and back away. I'll throw
you the coin when I've seen if the glass is worth the silver!"
Mumbling to himself, Simon Gosler did as he was told. He reached back
in his coat pocket to draw out a small spyglass, which he laid down on
the ground. He then backed away. Chris picked up and examined the
glass, tested it, and then just as the two gamblers came back up the
riverbank, tossed the silver piece to the beggar. Gosler caught it in
mid-air with the dexterity of years of practice. In an instant Chris
had vanished into the thick shade of the wood, and going as fast but
as quietly as he could, regained the place where Amos waited for him.
[Illustration]
"Gee, Chris!" Amos exclaimed, for he had caught all Chris's expression
of speech, "We got us a spyglass!"
"We sure have!" Chris agreed, "And it's a fine one--best I ever saw,"
he said. "Here, try it out over the river there, where that ship is
anchored."
Amos pointed the glass through the shrubs toward a distant ship that
swung at anchor close to the shore, and while he tried out their
prize, Chris watched the departure of the three gamblers. Gosler had
evidently paid up while Chris was returning to their hidden perch, for
he was now hustled into the boat by the other two. Soon the three were
far down the stream and their boat was moving into the main flow of
the river.
"Here," Amos said passing back the glass, "you look. That's a mighty
fine ship out there, black as the _Mirabelle_ is white, but she looks
fast and strong just the same."
But Chris, taking the glass, was idly following the progress of the
three men. Gosler, lost in gloom, sat in the stern hugging his rags
about him. The other two bent their backs to the oars and headed
straight for the anchored ship.
Turning the glass to the brig Chris hunted for the name as the prow
swung about. Through the glass the letters, gold on the black-painted
side, leapt at his eye across the distance. _Venture_, Chris read, and
with a beating heart he saw his adversary's ship for the first time.