He was a little behind, yet he could see the men.

Before he overtook them, they had turned from the west road and had entered the swamp toward the east.
They stopped at the trunk of a monstrous prostrate log.

It had been cut three feet from the ground, over three-fourths of the way through, and had fallen toward the east, the body of the log still resting on the stump.

The underbrush was almost impenetrable, but Duncan plunged in and with a crowbar began tapping along the trunk to decide how far it was hollow, so that they would know where to cut.

As they waited his decision, there came from the mouth of it--on wings--a large black bird that swept over their heads.
Freckles danced wildly.