The tapop, prompted by a wink of the Hishtanyi Chayan, went into the cave and prepared the council-fire.

It burned well, but nobody came.
Distant thunder rolled through the clouds; lightning flashed from them in fiery red tongues.

The wind continued to blow in gusts, but at long intervals only.

Between gust and gust it grew dismally, anxiously, still.

The singing, shouting, laughing of the people had almost ceased.
Now the wind again whirled up the valley stronger than before, and as its noise ceased, a plaintive sound, a distant howling, floated on the air.