CHAPTER XXIX.
ACROSS THE LAKE.
A few minutes after passing the bend in the stream, which hid the rock and the sleeping sentinel from sight, Fred Ashman observed that the smooth current broadened into a lake, forming the extraordinary sheet of water of which he had heard such strange accounts.
He held the paddle suspended, and looked around.
The surface was as calm as the face of a mirror, and in the strong moonlight, as he looked down he could see that it was of crystalline clearness--so much so, indeed, that a boat or any floating object looked as if suspended in mid-air.
It expanded right and left and in front, until he could barely discern the dim outlines of trees and rocks that shut it in.

It was probably two or three square miles in extent, and to the westward the shore appeared to be composed of enormous boulders and masses of rocks.
Directly ahead, was a crag more massive than the rest, towering a hundred feet above the lake, with a breadth fully one half as great.
It resembled some gigantic sentinel, keeping ward and watch over the strange region unknown to few if any white man.
Ashman turned to his companion with the question, what course he should take, and, without speaking, she pointed to the rock which she saw had attracted his attention.
Very slight effort was required to propel the delicate craft, which seemed to become sentient, and to move forward in obedience to the wishes of its occupants.

He barely dipped the blade into the water, when it skimmed forward like a swallow.

After a number of strokes he ceased and fixed his eyes on the landmark by which he was proceeding.
A singular emotion held him speechless for the time.

The vast mass of stone appeared to be slowly rising from the bosom of the lake, and, instead of remaining motionless, was advancing to meet the tiny canoe and its awed occupants.