"For goodness' sake, Captain, what has your drunken Indian got to do with us?" demanded Charley, his patience at an end.
The captain lowered his voice dramatically. "Lads, that Seminole was carryin' around on him over five hundred dollars' worth of white and pink aigret plumes."
"Whew!" whistled the boys, half incredulously.
"Yes," affirmed the captain, "an' I found out where he got them, too. He let out that he bagged them all out by the Upper St. John's River, due west of here. He declared the birds were as thick as the stars at night, but I reckon some allowance has to be made for poetic license and the red liquor he had in him."
Three boyish faces were shining, now, and questions and answers mingled in eager confusion.
"How far is it to the river?"
"Two long days' travel."
"What kind of birds bear the plumes?"
"The blue heron, and the pink and white egret."
"What are the plumes worth?"