Finally a strip of light ahead relieved his anxiety, and after a toilsome penetration of still denser brush he broke through to the bank of the river.
He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bank extending like a green and yellow wall.

Duane perceived at a glance the futility of his trying to cross at this point.

Everywhere the sluggish water raved quicksand bars.

In fact, the bed of the river was all quicksand, and very likely there was not a foot of water anywhere.

He could not swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across.