Then, as the thunder of the flood drowned all other sounds and I realized all was lost, my mind suddenly calmed and functioned, and I saw the chief as though in a dream. He was standing at the front of the cavern, his lips moved, and though I could hear no sound, I knew that he was shouting--chanting his death song, I thought vaguely. By the momentary gleam of a flash of lightning, I saw with amazement, that in his outstretched hands he held my copy of the codex. Instantly I divined his purpose. He was about to sacrifice it, to cast it into the rising, boiling stream, with the superstitious belief that it would calm the flood. I half-started to spring forward and seize the paper. Then I laughed hoarsely, hysterically. Let him sacrifice it! It would be of no further use to me; in a moment more we would both be swept to our deaths. Still he held the codex. Why did he wait? Fascinated, I watched him. The air vibrated to the terrific flood that was now raging in the cañon, the very ground shook. In the darkness, the upflung, boiling waves loomed white and ghastly. Now the hissing, raging maelstrom was curling about the chief’s feet. Still he remained there, shouting or chanting or praying--I know not which. A moment more and the irresistible tide would boil into the cavern, would overwhelm us. And then a strange thing happened. Below the Indian’s outstretched hands, with the paper spread between them, the water seemed suddenly to recede; the roar diminished, the thunder died in the distance. Slowly but surely the rushing torrent dropped back towards the river bed. The deafening turmoil died to the normal rush of the stream, and the chief, turning, folded the codex and returned it to me. We were saved, saved as if by a miracle. No doubt it was a mere coincidence; certainly the codex and the chief’s invocations had nothing to do with it. The flood had reached its apex before it could wash into the cave and destroy us. But to the Indian’s mind the Book of Kukulcan was responsible. Even the forces of nature must bow to the will of the Plumed Serpent god. And somehow, despite my common sense and my reasoning, there was something about it that even to me savored of the supernatural. Morning dawned at last, dawned to find us two alone, marooned in the cañon, with only a fraction of our supplies remaining. We were in a desperate situation. Our only course, our only chance was to go back, to return whence we had come. Soon we found that even that was impossible.