We had a great church bell and it was ringing, loudly, sonorously.

He rode in and at once there arose a shout, "Don Alonso de Ojeda!" All his horsemen rode with him, and rode also one who was not Castilian.

On a gray steed a bare, bronze figure--Caonabo! The church bell swung, the church bell rang.

Riding beneath the squat tower, all our people pouring forth from our poor houses upon the returned and his captive, the latter had eyes, it seemed to me, but for that bell.

A curious, sardonic look of recognition, appraisal, relinquishment, sat in the Indian's face.