Something, however, tempted them to keep on. So long as they were in action, hope buoyed them up. Owing to the frequent turnings of the cave, it was impossible to have a clue as to their real direction. It was a series of halls or rooms, some of which were lofty and spacious, joined by long, tortuous and low passages, at times so barricaded by rocky debris as to almost arrest further progress. Tolta, however, was indefatigable in clearing a way through them, as he was the first to explore, while Olmedo and Beatriz waited his report.
Upon emerging into a larger hall than the others, they thought they heard the noise of running water. It grew louder as they approached the farther end, where the torches showed to them a stream, which directly crossed their path. It appeared to issue from the solid rock, but their light was so faint it was impossible to discern anything clearly, except the quick flow of the black waters before them, while not far below they heard a roar and dash as of a cascade or a rapid descent among rocks and chasms.
Here, indeed, was an obstacle undreamed of. Fire cut off their retreat on one side, and water their progress on the other. Beatriz, already well nigh exhausted, said to Olmedo, “We can go no farther. Tell Tolta to save himself if it be possible. He can swim and may find his way out, but we must remain here and await our fate. Let us by prayer prepare to resign ourselves to what must now soon come. With you I shall have no fear of death in any shape.”
Beatriz no more thought of the possibility of Olmedo’s leaving her, even if he could escape, than she would have consented to have left him to perish by himself. It never occurred to her, therefore, to urge him to an effort without her.
“Beatriz, my long loved one, my more than daughter in faith, if die we now must, we will be one in death as we have ever been in our lives. But take courage, we are not to perish so. God has not brought us thus far, to abandon us. I hail this water as a happy omen. What say you, Tolta?”
“When water comes it must go. Rivers do not long flow underground. They love light as do the trees and flowers. I will see how the other side looks,” replied the Mexican.
Holding his torch above his head, he waded in. The water was warm and sulphurous and refreshed him; but it soon became so rapid and deep as to require all his skill as a swimmer to prevent being drawn too near the gulf, whose warning roar was heard not far below. Beatriz and Olmedo watched his progress anxiously, for fear he might be drifted into the rapids, but his light soon showed by its steadiness that he had reached ground on the farther side. A few minutes of suspense ensued, when suddenly he shouted, “We are saved! we shall soon see daylight!” and plunging into the water again, pushing something before him, he was quickly back. “See,” said he, “here is a log hollowed out into a rough canoe. This cave must have an outlet near by, for I see that the natives come here to bath and sport by torch-light. Hurry, and you shall see for yourselves the traces of their presence.”