The incessant washing of the water for centuries had so rounded
its summit, that it resembled a large beehive in shape, its form
being more than usually regular and even. Hurry remarked, as they
floated slowly past, that this rock was well known to all the Indians
in that part of the country, and that they were in the practice of
using it as a mark to designate the place of meeting, when separated
by their hunts and marches.

"And here is the river, Deerslayer," he continued, "though so shut
in by trees and bushes as to look more like an and-bush, than the
outlet of such a sheet as the Glimmerglass."

Hurry had not badly described the place, which did truly seem to be
a stream lying in ambush. The high banks might have been a hundred
feet asunder; but, on the western side, a small bit of low land
extended so far forward as to diminish the breadth of the stream
to half that width.

As the bushes hung in the water beneath, and pines that had the
stature of church-steeples rose in tall columns above, all inclining
towards the light, until their branches intermingled, the eye, at
a little distance, could not easily detect any opening in the shore,
to mark the egress of the water. In the forest above, no traces
of this outlet were to be seen from the lake, the whole presenting
the same connected and seemingly interminable carpet of leaves.
As the canoe slowly advanced, sucked in by the current, it entered
beneath an arch of trees, through which the light from the heavens
struggled by casual openings, faintly relieving the gloom beneath.

"This is a nat'ral and-bush," half whispered Hurry, as if he felt