Prevod
»Pekel, v katerem so ognji ugasnili,« so poimenovali Pusto deželo Dakote. Drzno zahodnjaško poimenovanje se kraju prilega. To je pradavno morsko dno, katerega glinene plasti so zmrzal in povodnji izoblikovale v podobe pagod, piramid in terasastih mest. Med temi fantastičnimi vrhovi, ki žarijo v živih barvah, a so pusti, divji in tesnobni, se vijejo blodnjaki kanjonov. Po gričih, podobnih utrdbam, se podi divjad, klopotače se grejejo na robu kraterja nad gorečimi premogovnimi plastmi in divji ljudje so se tu v obupu upirali prodirajoči civilizaciji. Pokrajino okoli osamelca, imenovanega »Pes čuvaj«, morda straši belka, ki je padla žrtev ljubosumja rdečekožca, ali pa Indijanka, ki so jo tam ubili; naj bo tako ali drugače, v tej pustinji prebiva banši, katere kriki so ledenili kri tudi tistim, ki jim ne bi zastala ob pogledu na medveda ali panterja. V mesečini, ko je pokrajina najbolj skrivnostna in nezemeljska ter oglašanje volkov in sov zbuja nelagodje, je na griču miljo južno od Psa čuvaja videti prikazen; lasje ji plapolajo v vetru, z rokami pa dela nenavadne kretnje.
Če bojne odprave, izseljenci, kavboji, lovci ali kdor koli, ki z dobrimi ali slabimi nameni potuje skozi to deželo, ponoči gredo mimo strašenega osamelca, se skale zasvetijo v fosfornih bliskih in banši šine proti njim. Kot bi želela spregovoriti ali čakala na vprašanje, ki ga še nikomur ni prišlo na misel zastaviti, obstane ob njih v proseči drži; če pa jo vprašajo, kaj hoče, vrže roke kvišku in s krikom, ki miljo daleč odmeva po opustošenih grapah, izgine, hip zatem pa jo je videti na vrhu njenega griča, kako si vije roke. Živina se noče pasti blizu strašenega osamelca in kavboji se ga ogibajo, kajti nihče še ni izrekel besede, ki bi razrešila skrivnost te pokrajine ali pomirila nesrečno banši.
To bitje ima včasih spremljevalca: okostnjaka brez trohice mesa, ki se potika po pepelu in glini ter obiskuje tabore, iščoč glasbo. Če jo zasliši, sede pred vrata in ob njej v ritmu prikimava; če pa mu na dosegu pustijo violino, jo željno pograbi in igra nanjo polovico noči. Njegova glasba je čudovita: zdaj nežna kakor šelest vetra v pelinu, zdaj rezka kakor volčje tuljenje ali srhljiva kakor rožljanje klopotače. Ko se začne vzhod svetliti, glasba vse bolj zamira, in ko se povsem zdani, docela utihne. Toda kdor jo posluša, ne sme za nobeno ceno slediti godcu, če se okostnjak odpravi proč, kajti ne le da ga bo zvabil v skalne pasti, iz katerih ni rešitve, temveč ga bo tam glasba opila, pognala v blaznost in mu nazadnje z urokom izvabila dušo iz telesa.
Izvirnik
“Hell, with the fires out,” is what the Bad Lands of Dakota have been called. The fearless Western nomenclature fits the place. It is an ancient sea-bottom, with its clay strata worn by frost and flood into forms like pagodas, pyramids, and terraced cities. Labyrinthine canons wind among these fantastic peaks, which are brilliant in color, but bleak, savage, and oppressive. Game courses over the castellated hills, rattlesnakes bask at the edge of the crater above burning coal seams, and wild men have made despairing stand here against advancing civilization. It may have been the white victim of a red man's jealousy that haunts the region of the butte called “Watch Dog,” or it may have been an Indian woman who was killed there, but there is a banshee in the desert whose cries have chilled the blood that would not have cooled at the sight of a bear or panther. By moonlight, when the scenery is most suggestive and unearthly, and the noises of wolves and owls inspire uneasy feelings, the ghost is seen on a hill a mile south of the Watch Dog, her hair blowing, her arms tossing in strange gestures.
If war parties, emigrants, cowboys, hunters, any who for good or ill are going through this country, pass the haunted butte at night, the rocks are lighted with phosphor flashes and the banshee sweeps upon them. As if wishing to speak, or as if waiting a question that it has occurred to none to ask, she stands beside them in an attitude of appeal, but if asked what she wants she flings her arms aloft and with a shriek that echoes through the blasted gulches for a mile she disappears and an instant later is seen wringing her hands on her hill-top. Cattle will not graze near the haunted butte and the cowboys keep aloof from it, for the word has never been spoken that will solve the mystery of the region or quiet the unhappy banshee.
The creature has a companion, sometimes, in an unfleshed skeleton that trudges about the ash and clay and haunts the camps in a search for music. If he hears it he will sit outside the door and nod in time to it, while a violin left within his reach is eagerly seized and will be played on through half the night. The music is wondrous: now as soft as the stir of wind in the sage, anon as harsh as the cry of a wolf or startling as the stir of a rattler. As the east begins to brighten the music grows fainter, and when it is fairly light it has ceased altogether. But he who listens to it must on no account follow the player if the skeleton moves away, for not only will it lead him into rocky pitfalls, whence escape is hopeless, but when there the music will intoxicate, madden, and will finally charm his soul from his body.
