At the front every man is more or less of a surgeon.
"Is he hurt badly ?" asked Thorpe; "what is it ?" "He's dead," answered one of the other men soberly.
With the skill of ghastly practice some of them wove a litter on which the body was placed.

The pathetic little procession moved in the solemn, inscrutable forest.
When the tree had fallen it had crashed through the top of another, leaving suspended in the branches of the latter a long heavy limb.

A slight breeze dislodged it.

Henry Paul was impaled as by a javelin.
This is the chief of the many perils of the woods.

Like crouching pumas the instruments of a man's destruction poise on the spring, sometimes for days.