THERE is little more to tell, for our adventures really ended when we crossed the Bridge of Light. I had come through the Cave of the Bats in the dark, blindly, wandering, lost. By merest luck I had found the exit where Itza and I now stood. But this time I had enough excellent torches to burn for hours, and lighting one of these, I held it up and peered about in its ruddy glare. I had no idea of the direction whence I had come, whether I had turned, doubled, run in circles or had followed a reasonably straight course on my former trip. I was not by any means sure how far I had come nor how much time I had spent in the cavern. Hence I had decided that the safest and surest--even if not the shortest--way of finding the entrance by which I had come would be to follow the wall of the cave. I felt confident there were no other exits, for had such existed the people would not have devoted so much care and labor to concealing the entrance by means of the great tilting idol. But we had not proceeded fifty feet--with Itza clinging to me and trembling with vague fears of the dismal place--when I found that my scheme was wholly impracticable. There was no wall. Huge stalactites and stalagmites joined to form innumerable columns in the labyrinth of grottoes, narrow passages, galleries and corridors leading for unknown distances. The mountain was literally honeycombed with a maze of tunnels and caves. Any one of the countless openings might lead to the entrance, and to explore them all would take months--perhaps years. More than ever I realized how fortune or fate or Providence had guided my footsteps before. And more than ever I realized how difficult we would find it to cross the cave and reach the entrance we sought. I halted, tried to collect my thoughts, to reason calmly, to concentrate upon the matter. The opening through which we had come was still visible, the morning sun streaming into it. As nearly as I could calculate, it faced southeast. I revisualized the surroundings of the tilting idol at the other entrance, and felt sure it faced the north. I have a rather remarkable sense of direction and I felt certain that I was not mistaken in this. In that case, one entrance would be almost directly opposite the other. Of course it might be far to one side or the other, far to the east or west, but if we followed a straight course towards the north, we must eventually reach the limits of the cavern, and even if we did not see the light that indicated the opening, we could move east or west until we located it. And it would not be difficult to follow a straight line. By noting some peculiarity of a stone column ahead of us, and sighting back to the still visible entrance, we could move forward. Then we could select another column ahead, smudge the one beside which we stood with smoke, and move to the next. There were so many columns that it would be easy to align our course even after we lost sight of the entrance behind us.