The trees were great that grow there, stranger, and their leaves are so think that in certain places the light is as that of night when the moon is young.

Still, I wended on, often losing my path.

But from time to time between the tops of the trees I saw the figure of the grey stone woman who sits on the top of Ghost Mountain, and shaped my course towards her knees.

My heart beat as I travelled through the forest in dark and loneliness like that of the night, and ever I looked round searching for the eyes of the Amatongo.

But I saw no spirits, though at times great spotted snakes crept from before my feet, and perhaps these were the Amatongo.