That night, however, was the longest ever passed by Ray, for not until near morning did he fall into a fitful slumber, and scarcely had he lost himself before Old Cy was up and watching for the dawn. Its first faint glow was visible when Ray's eyes opened, and without waiting for fire or breakfast, they started for the top of the ridge. From here a curious sight met their eyes, for the lake and also the ridges out of which the smoke had risen were hidden beneath a white pall of fog. Back of them also, and completely coating the immense swamp, was the same sea of vapor. It soon vanished with the rising sun, and just as the ledges across the lake outlined themselves, once more that smoke sign rose aloft. And now the two watchers could better see whence it came. Old Cy had expected to obtain sight of some hut or bark shack nestling among these rocks; but none was visible. Instead, the smoke rose out of a jagged rock, and there was not a cabin roof or sign of one anywhere. "That feller's in a cave," he whispered to Ray, "an' the smoke's comin' out o' a crack, sure's a gun!" It seemed so, and for a half-hour the two watched it in silent amazement. Then came another surprise, for suddenly Old Cy caught sight of a man just emerging from behind a rock fully ten rods from the rising smoke; he stooped, lifted a canoe into view, advanced to the shore, slid it halfway into the water, returned to the rock, picked up a rifle, then pushed the canoe off, and, crossing the lake, vanished into the outlet. The two watchers on the ridge exchanged glances. "He's goin' to tend his traps, an' mebbe ourn," Old Cy said at last, and then led the way back to their bark shack. Here he halted, and placing one hand scoop-fashion over his ear, listened intently until he caught the faint sound of a paddle touching a canoe gunwale. First slightly, then a more distinctive thud, and then less and less until the sound ceased. "The coast's clear," he added, now in an exultant whisper, "an' while the old cat's away we'll take a peek at his den." A hurried gathering of their few belongings was made, the canoe was shoved into the lagoon, and no time was lost until the lake was crossed and they drew alongside of where the smoke was still rising in a thin film. No landing was possible here, for the shore was a sheer face of upright slate, and only where this lone trapper had launched his canoe could they make one. From here a series of outcropping slate ledges rose one above another, and between them and parallel to the shore, narrow, irregular passages partially closed by broken rock. It was all of slaty formation, jagged, serrated, and gray with moss.