He looked in the direction of her pointing finger, threw himself from his saddle, and hurried into the swamp.
HE WAS TEARING AWAY THE BOUGHS IN FRANTIC HASTE.
A man's hat lying just beyond the branches of the fallen tree had attracted Flea's eye. When she had slipped from her horse and followed her father into the thicket, he was tearing away the boughs in frantic haste from Major Duncombe's face. The upper part of the prostrate trunk lay right across his chest.
It must have killed him instantly.