Sometimes it will go through a forest leveling the trees as though a gang of axemen had plied their tools on lines laid out by surveyors, nothing outside the track being touched; but again in similar windfalls there will be found occasional pockets scored in the forest growth jutting off the right line, like small lagoons opening into a flowing stream.

These seem to have been caused by a sort of attendant whirlwind--a baby offspring from the main monster, which, having sprung away from the chief disturbance, scoops a hole in the woods and then expires or rejoins the original movement.
I have seen one of the most violent and, so to speak, compressed of these storms, cut a road through thick woods so that at a distance the edges stood out clear and sharp against the sky as would those of a railway cutting through earth.

Trees standing at the edge of the track had their branches clean swept one side while on the other there was no perceptible disturbance of the foliage.
Sometimes the tornado acts like an enormous scoop, catching up every movable thing and sweeping it miles away: and again it becomes a depositor, as if, tired of carrying so much dead weight, it dumped it upon the earth preparatory to grabbing up a new cargo.

These effects are particularly noticeable in the tornado that goes by jumps.

When it strikes and absorbs a mass of debris it seems to spring up again like a projectile that grazes the surface.