Prevod
Štiri milje od Pittsfielda v Massachusettsu, sredi Berkshirskega hribovja, leži divja dolina, znana po svojih odmevih, ki ji že več kot stoletje pravijo Wizard's Glen. Tu so indijanski svečeniki izrekali svoje zagovore in na rdeče ožarjenem Hudičevem oltarju naj bi Hobomocku in njegovim gozdnim demonom darovali človeške žrtve. V zgodnjih dneh naseljevanja Berkshira je lovca Johna Chamberlaina iz Daltona, ki je uplenil jelena in ga na ramenih nesel domov, v hribih zajelo neurje, zato se je pred njim zatekel v votlini podobno skalno vdolbino v dolini Wizard's Glen. Kljub utrujenosti ni mogel zaspati, in ko je z odprtimi očmi ležal na tleh, je osupel zagledal, kako se gozd pred njim razmika in razkriva dolg prehod, obsijan s skrivnostno svetlobo, po katerem je poskakovalo na stotine postav. Ko so se mu oči privadile na medlo svetlobo, je na plešočih postavah razločil repe in razcepljena kopita; za visoko krilato postavo, ki ji je okoli glave blestel venec strel in so ji vsi drugi izkazovali spoštovanje, pa je sklepal, da je sam hudič. Prav takšne noči in takšne kraje so si Satan in njegovi vražiči navadno izbirali za svoja velika slavja.
Medtem ko je leže zrl vanje skozi dežno zaveso, je na Hudičev oltar skočil visok Indijanec s poslikanim telesom, okoli katerega so v vencih bingljali sveži skalpi, oči pa so mu žarele v divji ukazovalnosti. S kratkim zagovorom je okoli sebe priklical trume senc. Prišle so z baklami, ki so gorele z modrim plamenom, in ob rezkem petju krožile okoli skale, dokler niso na dano znamenje privlekli indijanskega dekleta in ga vrgli na žrtvenik. Postave so planile proti njej z iztegnjenimi rokami in orožjem, prestrašeno dekle pa je zakričalo, da je lovcu ta krik odzvanjal v ušesih še vse življenje. Vrač je dvignil sekiro; hudiči in vampirji so se zgrnili okoli nje, da bi pili kri in zgrabili dušo, ko bo zapustila telo, tedaj pa je v blisku strele dekletov obupani pogled obstal na Chamberlainovem obrazu. Ta pogled je v njem prebudil možatost; izvlekel je Sveto pismo, ga podržal proti drhali in na ves glas zaklical božje ime. Razlegel se je silovit grom. Svetloba je ugasnila, demoni so izginili, neurje je odvihralo mimo in nad hribe je legel mir.
Izvirnik
Four miles from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, among the Berkshire Hills, is a wild valley, noted for its echoes, that for a century and more has been called Wizard's Glen. Here the Indian priests performed their incantations, and on the red-stained Devil's Altar, it was said, they offered human sacrifice to Hobomocko and his demons of the wood. In Berkshire's early days a hunter, John Chamberlain, of Dalton, who had killed a deer and was carrying it home on his shoulders, was overtaken on the hills by a storm and took shelter from it in a cavernous recess in Wizard's Glen. In spite of his fatigue he was unable to sleep, and while lying on the earth with open eyes he was amazed to see the wood bend apart before him, disclosing a long aisle that was mysteriously lighted and that contained hundreds of capering forms. As his eyes grew accustomed to the faint light he made out tails and cloven feet on the dancing figures; and one tall form with wings, around whose head a wreath of lightning glittered, and who received the deference of the rest, he surmised to be the devil himself. It was such a night and such a place as Satan and his imps commonly chose for high festivals.
As he lay watching them through the sheeted rain a tall and painted Indian leaped on Devil's Altar, fresh scalps dangling round his body in festoons, and his eyes blazing with fierce command. In a brief incantation he summoned the shadow hordes around him. They came, with torches that burned blue, and went around and around the rock singing a harsh chant, until, at a sign, an Indian girl was dragged in and flung on the block of sacrifice. The figures rushed toward her with extended arms and weapons, and the terrified girl gave one cry that rang in the hunter's ears all his life after. The wizard raised his axe: the devils and vampires gathered to drink the blood and clutch the escaping soul, when in a lightning flash the girl's despairing glance fell on the face of Chamberlain. That look touched his manhood, and drawing forth his Bible he held it toward the rabble while he cried aloud the name of God. There was a crash of thunder. The light faded, the demons vanished, the storm swept past, and peace settled on the hills.
