Presently it was broken by a rattling of loose gravel and then low voices.
"He can't git across the river, I tell you," came to Duane's ears.

"He's corralled in the brake.

I know thet hole." Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows, heard no more from his pursuers.

He headed straight for the river.

Threading a passage through a willow brake was an old task for him.