For about fifteen miles above Port Henry the lake is comparatively narrow, then it opens up to a breadth of ten miles or more, becoming a veritable inland-sea, with the rolling hills of Vermont reaching far eastward and merging in the distance with the lofty Green Mountains.
About ten miles above Port Henry, and at the narrowest part of the lake’s narrow stretch, there rises upon the New York side an extent of precipitous and rugged height known as the Split Rock Mountain. On the landward side the slope from the mountain is easy enough, but toward the lake this irregular eminence presents a steep surface interspersed with woody patches and gray rock. Nestling under this forbidding height is a narrow area of marshy woodland between it and the shore.
It is related that in the olden days a Mohawk warrior, being pursued and finding himself upon this dizzy summit without an arrow to his bow, tried to scramble down and losing his foothold was precipitated against trees and over rocks and his mangled body became a prey to vultures in the wooded swamp below. There are guides about that historic water who can point you where his skeleton and tomahawk were found—if you are disposed to venture within that tangled morass.
As the little flotilla approached this spot, Tom who was steering the smaller boat noticed a green canoe drawn up at the wood’s edge, and he called to Roy, sprawling on the cabin of the Honor Scout, to look.
“It’s a canoe all right, ain’t it?” he called.
“Sure it is,” answered Roy.
“It’s the same color as the woods, that’s why you can’t see it plainer,” said Will Bronson, looking through the field glass.
Scarcely had he spoken when two scouts emerged at the shore and busied themselves at the canoe for a moment or two.
“Why, that’s the red-headed fellow we saw in Albany!” said Artie, who had taken the glass. “I can see him plain.”
“Sure it is,” added Roy. “You can recognize him without the glass.”