Here we are!" he broke off, beginning to skirt the hither edge of the swamp.

"Unless all my dope is wrong, it ought to be somewhere close to this." He walked more slowly, his keen eyes busily probing the impenetrable face of the swamp.

He was practically at the very end of the beach.

In front, the mangroves ran out into the water, and in an unbroken line they extended far back to landward.
The shining dark leaves made a thick screen, shutting from view the interior of the swamp.

The reddish roots formed an equally impenetrable fence, two feet high, all along the edge.
It would have been easier to walk through a hedge of bayonets than to invade that barrier.
"Where mangroves grow, puppy," exhorted Brice, "there is water.