"Aye, aye, lad, truly spoken," said the captain, firmly, "stay we must."
"Golly, I jis guess dis nigger ain't none scairt of their threatenings," chimed in Chris.
"Well, we seem to be pretty well agreed," Charley said, trying in vain to shake off the vague feeling of impending evil, that had suddenly settled over him. "Speaking for myself, I feel too keyed up and anxious to do anything much until we get this thing over with. I move we get all our gear into shape and try to plan some way to get the plume birds hereafter without killing. That will take us until dark, I guess. Then let's quietly take our blankets and move back into the forest a ways. Our neighbors may take a notion to pay us a visit without waiting for to-morrow."
The others readily agreed to this proposal and were soon busy trying to scheme out some means to take their feathered prey alive.
It was Chris who at last solved the problem.
"You know dat stuff we used puttin' dem boats together?" he demanded.
"A quick drying glue," exclaimed Charley, catching the idea at once.
"Golly, I should say hit was," grinned Chris, "hit dun stick my fingers together so tight that it peared like I'd never get 'em apart. Now doan you reckon by spreading hit thick-like on dem limbs whar dem birds roosts dat hit would hold 'em down till we-alls got ready to pry 'em off?"
"The lad's got the right idea, I reckon," allowed the captain. "We could fix the limbs up just before dusk and needn't bother about 'em any more until it was broad daylight."
The boys were unstinted in their praise of Chris' suggestion until the little darky forgot the humiliation of the day and was once more his bright, vain, cheery self.