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moved deeper into the cave to investigate. Mocos followed him.
    As he advanced, the noise grew louder; the whispers became moans, the moans of people in despair, moans of suffering; sorrowful moans that made Polito tremble and his skin tingle with fear.
    Still the prospector moved onward, deeper and deeper into the cave. Mocos began to whimper. The moans became voices. Suddenly, the voices stopped, and an overpowering silence was felt in the cave.Polito’s torch sputtered, sending dancing shadows all over the cave walls.
    â€œI hope the flame doesn’t go out,” Polito muttered. He was uneasy. He stood there in the eerie silence, listening and looking into the far reaches of the perimeter of light, and wondered what his next move should be.
    The moaning suddenly started again. The moans echoed and re-echoed throughout the cave-long sad mournful moans, moans of despair. Polito stopped in his tracks after a few steps. He could feel the evil in the air. It wasn’t a destructive evil; it was more like an evil that was trying to repel him, a feeling that he had entered a dimension of the supernatural, a place where he did not belong. He hesitatingly moved forward. He could not stop moving forward.
    The cave was leading him downwards. He was becoming confused. He felt a spasm shoot through his old body. He stopped and raised his torch higher. There, in the flickering light of the torch, way deep in the cavern, he saw a dark shadow moving away from him. He quickened his pace in order to catch up with the shadowy figure. Moans could still be heard throughout the cave.
    Mocos stopped. The dog did not want to follow, but his loyalty was stronger than his fear. He quickly moved and caught up to his master. His tail was between his legs; his hair bristled from fear.
    Polito came close enough to the shadow to yell, “Hello! Who are you?” The shadowy figure stopped and stood there for awhile without turning around to answer.
    Polito said again, “Hello!” but received no answer. The prospector stared at the back of thedark-robed figure. The cave had become quiet again. There was no sound. Polito stepped toward the figure, but it started moving again into the depths of the cave.
    The old prospector followed. He could hear only the sounds of his leather sandals hitting the floor as he hiked further and further into the cavern. He lost track of time. He was beginning to perspire. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. But his curiosity and fear kept him moving forward.
    His dog Mocos walked alongside him in a scared, crouching manner. Fear showed in the dog’s wide-open eyes. The animal’s survival instinct warned him that they were moving in the direction of destruction. He sat upright, arched his back, raised his muzzle toward the roof of the cave, and let out a loud mournful howl.
    â€œWOOOOOO! WOOOOOOOO!” he howled. The dog could not stop howling. He felt a loneliness in his breast, a deep sad loneliness.
    Polito called out to him, “Quiet! Be quiet, dog!” But the howls kept coming. They were heavy-hearted, long and eerie. The dog would not stop howling.
    The mysterious figure turned around suddenly and walked toward Polito. Howling filled the cave as the figure drew closer, its black robe dragging along the floor. The torch in Polito’s hand quaked strongly. Mocos stopped howling then and stared in the direction of the phantom. The dog’s eyes opened wider, and his trembling grew stronger. He could not move toward his beloved master.
    Polito sank to his knees. His terror intensified. The torch fell out of his hands and landed at the side of the cave where it continued to burn. Polito placed his trembling hands beside his head, graspingit in sheer fright. He sat there on the floor of the cave. His courage was completely gone. Something was wrong. This was not a treasure cave.
    The moaning returned, the sad mournful suffering moans. The dark figure moved closer, raised