"His face is all a glist'ny yellow, and he's peaked as a starving caged bird." McLean rode to the Limberlost, and stopping in the shade, sat waiting for Freckles, whose hour for passing the foot of the lease had come.
Along the north line came Freckles, fairly staggering.

When he turned east and reached Sleepy Snake Creek, sliding through the swale as the long black snake for which it was named, he sat on the bridge and closed his burning eyes, but they would not remain shut.

As if pulled by wires, the heavy lids flew open, while the outraged nerves and muscles of his body danced, twitched, and tingled.
He bent forward and idly watched the limpid little stream flowing beneath his feet.

Stretching into the swale, it came creeping between an impenetrable wall of magnificent wild flowers, vines, and ferns.
Milkweed, goldenrod, ironwort, fringed gentians, cardinal-flowers, and turtle-head stood on the very edge of the creek, and every flower of them had a double in the water.

Wild clematis crowned with snow the heads of trees scattered here and there on the bank.
From afar the creek appeared to be murky, dirty water.