"Let us thank God, boys, for your wonderful escape. He put that plan into Charley's head and gave him the courage and daring to carry it out," the captain said.
Devoutly the two boys knelt at the foot of the tree, while the old sailor in simple, uncouth speech, offered up a little prayer of humble thanks for the deliverance of the two lads he loved so well.
As they arose from their knees, Walter caught Charley's hand and wrung it vigorously. "You saved my life again, old chum," he cried.
But Charley, embarrassed and blushing like a girl, pulled his hand away. "I guess we'd better be getting back to camp," he stammered, eager to change the subject.
"Ever modest are the brave," quoted Walter with a laugh. "But you are right about getting back to camp. I, for one, have had enough slaughter and adventure for one night."
The guns and plumes were quickly gathered together and, guided by the light of the camp-fire, the two canoes were soon made fast again at the point and their occupants were soon busy removing their rubber boots and drying themselves before the roaring fire.
Chris' eyes shone with delight when they spread out to view the beautiful feathery pink, white and blue plumes.
"Sixty-three of 'em," he announced after a hurried count. "Golly, guess dis nigger goin' to be a rich man afore we get back home."
The captain rummaged in his saddle-bags and brought out a small pair of steelyards. The plumes were tied carefully together in a bunch and suspended from the hook.
"Twenty ounces," he announced. "At five dollars an ounce that makes one hundred dollars, lads. That ain't half bad for our first night's work."