Prevod
Ko so Nizozemci goram zahodno od Hudsona zaradi divjih mačk in panterjev, ki so se klatili po njih, nadeli ime Katzbergs, so izbrisali lepo indijansko ime Ontiora, »gore neba«. Po enem od izročil staroselcev so bile te gore kosti pošasti, ki se je hranila z ljudmi, dokler je Veliki duh ni spremenil v kamen, ko se je nerodno plazila proti oceanu, da bi se okopala. Jezeri blizu vrha sta bili njeni očesi. Na teh vrhovih je prebivala indijanska čarovnica, ki je vreme v dolini Hudsona uravnavala z zanesljivostjo vremenoslovnega urada. Ona je spuščala na plano dan in noč v blagodejnem menjavanju ter enega zadrževala, kadar je bil drugi na prostosti, da se ne bi sprla. Stare lune je razrezala v zvezde, brž ko je na nebo obesila nove, in pogosto so jo videli čepeti na vrhovih Round Top in North Mountain, kjer je predla oblake in jih metala vetrovom. Gorje prebivalcem doline, če so ji izkazali nespoštovanje, kajti tedaj so bili oblaki črni in težki, skoznje pa je zlivala silne nalive in prožila strele, da so potoki pogubno narasli, strele pa razdejale vigvame posmehljivcev. Kadar je bila razposajena, se je spremenila v medveda ali jelena in indijanske lovce vodila v vse prej kot vesel ples, jih izpostavljala utrujenosti in nevarnostim, ko pa so jo dohiteli, je izginila ali privzela kako strašno podobo. Včasih jih je zvabila v soteske in s posmehljivim »Ho, ho!« švignila v zrak prav v trenutku, ko so se drgetaje ustavili na robu prepada. Pogosto so jo srečevali pri skali Garden Rock, ob katere vznožju se je nekoč razprostiralo jezero. Kraj je zbujal takšno strahospoštovanje, da noben Indijanec ne bi zavestno zasledoval plena tja; nekoč pa je neki lovec zašel in iz gozda prišel na obrežje jezera. V rogovilah dreves je zagledal več buč in eno vzel, a se je iz strahu pred duhom tako naglo obrnil, da bi odšel, da se je spotaknil in mu je padla iz rok. Ko se je razbila, je iz nje privrel izvir s tolikšno silo, da je nesrečnika pogoltnila voda, ga odnesla na rob soteske Kaaterskill in ga treščila ob skale dvesto šestdeset čevljev niže. Voda pa ni nikoli nehala teči in potok, ki ga je rodilo čarovničino maščevanje, je danes znan kot Catskill Creek.
Izvirnik
When the Dutch gave the name of Katzbergs to the mountains west of the Hudson, by reason of the wild-cats and panthers that ranged there, they obliterated the beautiful Indian Ontiora, “mountains of the sky.” In one tradition of the red men these hills were bones of a monster that fed on human beings until the Great Spirit turned it into stone as it was floundering toward the ocean to bathe. The two lakes near the summit were its eyes. These peaks were the home of an Indian witch, who adjusted the weather for the Hudson Valley with the certainty of a signal service bureau. It was she who let out the day and night in blessed alternation, holding back the one when the other was at large, for fear of conflict. Old moons she cut into stars as soon as she had hung new ones in the sky, and she was often seen perched on Round Top and North Mountain, spinning clouds and flinging them to the winds. Woe betide the valley residents if they showed irreverence, for then the clouds were black and heavy, and through them she poured floods of rain and launched the lightnings, causing disastrous freshets in the streams and blasting the wigwams of the mockers. In a frolic humor she would take the form of a bear or deer and lead the Indian hunters anything but a merry dance, exposing them to tire and peril, and vanishing or assuming some terrible shape when they had overtaken her. Sometimes she would lead them to the cloves and would leap into the air with a mocking “Ho, ho!” just as they stopped with a shudder at the brink of an abyss. Garden Rock was a spot where she was often found, and at its foot a lake once spread. This was held in such awe that an Indian would never wittingly pursue his quarry there; but once a hunter lost his way and emerged from the forest at the edge of the pond. Seeing a number of gourds in crotches of the trees he took one, but fearing the spirit he turned to leave so quickly that he stumbled and it fell. As it broke, a spring welled from it in such volume that the unhappy man was gulfed in its waters, swept to the edge of Kaaterskill clove and dashed on the rocks two hundred and sixty feet below. Nor did the water ever cease to run, and in these times the stream born of the witch's revenge is known as Catskill Creek.
