From off the mountain heights our men reply,
Sounding aloud the signal of their horns;
Etcheco Jauna whets his arrows then.
3.
They come! They come! See, what a wood of spears
What flags of myriad tints float in the midst!
What lightning-flashes glance from off their arms!
How many be they? Count them well, my child.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,
13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.