The trees seemed of a strange shape, and strange were the stunted thorns dotted about the broken field in which he stood.
Like a broken field runner going absolutely haywire he dodged this way and that, and ducked under wings, or around parked planes.
The second received the kick-off and Marvin ran the ball back forty yards through a broken field before he was nailed.
His gun barked, but Black Bart was running like a football player down a broken field, swerving here and there with uncanny speed.
But instants passed, and, indubitably, the world was a broken field!
Sometimes, indeed, the shrapnel lays a finger on him, but he whirls away out of its grip like a quarterback in a broken field.
His ability to avoid tacklers in the broken field had always puzzled me.
Eventually we crossed this broken field, reaching the edge of the gravel slope, where we were very glad indeed to rest.
He had made a run of ninety yards through a broken field in the last minute of play.
And what do you call this broken field of long pieces more or less closely connected?