But if the underground caverns were completely without light, they were not completely without sound. As Rick sat quietly he began to hear the slow drip of water. It was the slow drip of centuries that had produced the weird limestone formations of the caves.
He began to talk quietly to himself, and the sound of his own voice was better than listening to the slow dripping of water.
"I can't stay here. The others wouldn't have any more chance of finding me than I have of finding them. But if I leave here, I'm taking a chance. I might go so deep into the caves that I'd never find my way out again, or see any of the others again."
He had visited some of the limestone caverns of Virginia, and he had read of the New York and Kentucky caverns. He knew that even in America there were endless series of caves that never had been fully explored. This fabled Tibetan place might extend on forever.
"On the other hand," he continued to himself, "if I keep moving, I might stumble on the big cave under the Black Buddha again. It's less than a fifty-fifty chance. A whole lot less. But it's a chance and I'd better take it."
He didn't let himself think of what would happen if he failed to find his way back. He got to his feet and switched on his light again. By contrast with the total darkness, the reflection of the beam on the limestone walls was brilliant sunlight. He had to wait while his eyes adjusted themselves to the light. Then he flashed the beam around. There were passages going in every direction.
"Which way do I go?" he asked himself.
It was a tossup. He remembered an old trick and spat into the palm of his hand. Then, with the forefinger of his other hand, he slapped the spittle sharply. The biggest drop flew between two limestone hour-glasses that formed one passage. He hitched up the camera case on his shoulder, picked up his rifle, and started forward.
The caverns were endless. Walking slowly, to conserve his strength, he wandered through countless incredible rooms of gleaming stone. The dripping water had formed all manner of things. He saw animals, ships, mountain scenes, waterfalls, and cataracts, fairy grottoes, fish, distant houses ... all carved of shining stone by millions upon countless millions of water drops over centuries past number. He was so completely enthralled by the unearthly beauty of the place that he even forgot his predicament for a few moments.
And then he noticed that his flashlight was growing so weak that it no longer threw a clearly defined beam. It must have been getting weaker for some time, he thought, but his eyes had adjusted themselves to the failing light.