A man came splashing through the water and called out something, which the Queres of course did not understand.  At once all conversation ceased, and the Tanos became silent and grave.  The new-comer spoke first; he spoke rapidly and in a low voice, then grasped Hayoue’s hand to breathe on it, and held it fast.  Zashue’s hands as well had been seized by two Tanos.  His bow and quiver had been removed from him under some friendly pretext.  They were disarmed.  Then all moved on, forded the stream, and took a trail that led directly to the foot of the hill where stood the pueblo.  All sounds of merriment above were hushed, nothing moved but the men and the night wind rustling through the shrubbery.  At the foot of the high hill other Indians came up; these were armed, and they followed the group.

All this looked ominous.  They were no longer treated as guests; they were prisoners!  Zashue was not so much surprised as Hayoue, for he had always mistrusted.  Hayoue inwardly raved.  He reproached himself for not having listened to his brother’s warnings, for having allowed his rashness, his conceit, his over-confidence, to prevail to such an extent as to fall into a trap which he felt sure the Tanos had artfully laid and cunningly sprung upon them.  Still all his indignation and rage were of no avail.  Even if he were able to free himself from the grasp of his guards, and to escape the arrow-shots that would be aimed at the fugitive, he saw no chance for him in the relentless chase that would follow.  All advantages would be on the side of the Tanos, who knew the country, whereas he was a total stranger.  Nothing was left him but to resign himself to his fate and to await the course of events.  It was hard for the proud, self-glorious young warrior; it was not only hard but if he took into consideration his overbearing manner toward Zashue, a punishment justly merited.  Hayoue hung his head, crestfallen and in bitter wrath.

At last some one came down the steep hill, muttered a few words, and the ascent began.  Nobody turned back to glance at the moonlit expanse that was unfolding itself more and more beneath.  A dismal yelping sounded from below, the voice of a coyote from the banks of the stream.  The wolf had followed the returning hunters.  He licked the blood trickling from the dead game and called his comrades.  Other voices answered in the neighbourhood; from various parts of the basin the barking died away in a mournful, dismal wail mingled with shrieks, sobs, and fiendish laughter.  It rose from the depths, filling the air, re-echoing from the hills, and changing its modulations, a horrible chorus of moans and groans alternating with exclamations of hellish triumph.  A shiver passed through both the prisoners; their entrance into Oga P’ Hoge took place with dismal prognostications.

The pueblo was built in the shape of a rectangle.  The north and east sides of it formed a continuous structure; narrow alleys separated them from the south and the west sides, and between the two there was also an alley of entrance and exit.  Through the latter therefore, on the southwest corner, the Tanos entered an open space like a large court-yard, surrounded by the terraced buildings composing the village.