# Mirrikh, or, A Woman from Mars/Chapter 25

CHAPTER XXV.
CHAOS.
“They’ve gone! By Jove, there ain’t a trace of them! Boys, we are deserted for a solemn fact.”
It was the Doctor’s voice and it came in good time, for the strain was more than I could bear.
​But evidently he had seen nothing of it all, for he came hurrying toward us with the lamp in one hand and a big earthen pot filled with cooked rice in the other. Upon his face I could read despair.
It seemed amazing that I should be able to recover my equanimity with so much ease, but I answered him as calmly as though nothing of an exciting nature had occurred; and this with every nerve in my body quivering; this in spite of the fact that I was trembling from head to foot.
As for Maurice, he showed no disposition to interfere. The same strange calmness seemed to have come to him as to myself. Probably Walla still remained entranced, for she neither spoke nor moved.
“Then you found things as I told you, Doctor?”
“Well I should say so! They’ve gone, every mother’s son of them, and this pot of rice is all in the way of eatables left behind. Thought I might as well freeze on to that while there was time, for fear it might be spirited away too. But I say, Wylde, how do you suppose they put the bridge across the rift?”
“I'm sure I can’t tell you. Have you found out?”
“Found out! No indeed; I’d like to know, though. Time was when I should have called it a miracle, but in this devil’s den miracles are as plenty as bees about a hive, I give it up. Maurice, old man, how do you feel now?”
“Better,” answered Maurice, “much better, thank you Doctor, but I haven’t got my legs yet.”
“That will come in time; but look here, my boy, you must eat something. Let me warm you up some rice. It’s all we have. We may as well view the situation philosophically, eat, drink and be merry, for as sure as there is a God above us, we are doomed to death by starvation unless help reaches us from outside.”
“Which,” said I, “is most improbable—still do I hope.”
“You will hope in vain then. We are in a desperate situation, and all owing to me.”
“How to you, Doctor?” asked Maurice.
“Do not let us talk about that,” I interposed. “The Doctor is not to blame. I will stir up the fire, and if Maurice wants the rice he shall have it. Morning will soon be here, and perhaps it may bring us good fortune of which we little dream.”
“It can’t,” said the Doctor, decidedly. “The ​proposition is simply an impossible one. There is only one chance for us. The lamas may not have gone for good, but only retreated through the passage on the other side of the rift, intending to return with the daylight and help us across.”
It was but a slender thread to hold to. “This,” I thought, “cannot be why I was told to hope.”
I left the Doctor talking with Maurice, and moving toward the spot where the argols still smoldered, proceeded to stir them up and heap on the few uncharred ones which still remained. Still the calmness was upon me. I had an ill-defined feeling that in spite of the assurance I had received to the contrary, I should see her again.
And as I worked the impression grew stronger and stronger. I found myself looking behind me; actually listening for the rustle of those snowy garments; I could not divest my mind of the idea that she was close at hand.
Was it so?
God knows!
All I can say is—and most positively do I affirm it to be a solemn fact and no illusion—that then as the sense of nearness increased I heard her voice.
“George! Fly to the mouth of the cave!” it said; “death is close upon you! Lose no time! Fly! Fly!”
But why should I have done it when it seemed then as if I had no other desire than to join her beyond the veil?
Surely I was not master of my own actions, for I dropped the argols and bounded back to Maurice’s side.
“We must go!” I cried excitedly. “We must fly! Something is going to happen! There is no time to be lost!”
“Fly the devil!” burst the Doctor. “Where the deuce are we to fly to? Are you going off the handle too, Wylde?”
I certainly was not myself at that moment, for I made him no answer, but seizing Walla, raised her up. She opened her eyes, staring at me stupidly.
“We are going to leave here,” I cried. “Do you hear me? Can you walk?”
“Yes—why not?”
“Keep close to us then. Come, Maurice.”
“George, I can’t walk: You will have to carry me.”
“Nonsense, Nonsense!” exclaimed the Doctor. “One place is as good as another. Calm yourself, Wylde. Nothing but trouble can come of giving away to the horrors of our situation like this.”
​“No, no! We are to go! I have had a most vivid impression of impending danger. For God’s sake, Doctor, humor me this once! Help me carry him to the mouth of the cave.”
“And then——”
“Then we shall see. Ah, it has come! Too late! Too late!”
Something had happened.
Suddenly the strange cracking sound was heard again, and in a second a fearful crash came.
The next I knew I was flung violently upon the sand; crash followed crash, mingling in one hellish roar, until as suddenly as it had come upon us all sound ceased.
We were all upon the sand now—no living creature could have stood up against that shock.
“Look! Look there!” shrieked the Doctor, pointing behind the stone near which Maurice had sat.
He was pointing at black vacancy—nothingness! The rocky walls had vanished, the cold rain was beating in upon us—the unexplored depths of the cavern had disappeared.
“Is it an earthquake?” gasped Maurice. “Oh, George, this is terrible! Terrible! And after we were told to hope!”
I leaped to my feet, for something seemed to tell me that all depended upon my coolness now.
“We must make for the mouth of the cave,” I shouted. “You see I knew what I was talking about, Doctor; if you cannot help me to carry Maurice I must carry him alone.”
The Doctor never spoke a word but moved toward Maurice.
I bade Walla take the rice pot and she seized it, while the Doctor and I lifted Maurice upon our interlocked hands, that persistent objector obeying my commands as meekly as a child.
“There is still hope for us.” I said, prophetically. “Courage, my friends! We shall yet be saved!”
God knows why I said it, when there seemed so little cause to hope.
We hurried forward, Walla following in silence; here the roof of the cavern was still above us—here there had been no change. In a few moments we stood at the very brink of the cañon with that wild torrent tumbling over the rocks at our feet.
​Now at last my strength failed me. I was as weak as a baby when we put Maurice down.
“By Jove, but this is tremendous!” gasped the Doctor. “At least we’ve got a moment to draw our breath in before chaos comes.”
“And it’s coming,” I said calmly.
“I believe you! Maurice, your weight is something fearful.”
Maurice staggered to his feet, and catching my arm clung to me trembling; yet he was entirely cool.
“This is no earthquake,” he said. “I have experienced too many shocks since I have been in the East to make a mistake.”
“But what else then? We are supposed to be on a mountain—is the mountain tumbling down?” asked the Doctor.
“It is a wash out of some sort,” I asserted boldly. “You know we decided some time since that we were in a limestone region, Doctor; the cavern may have been undermined for years for all we know.”
The Doctor groaned and stared across the rift helplessly.
“Oh, if we were only over there! If we were only over there,” he kept saying. “How did they do it? How—ah! It has come again! This is the last call, boys! Gad! I’ve a mind to jump for it. Here goes.”
I clutched his arm in time and held him back. What he proposed could only have been a leap into the great beyond, for across the rift was more than thirty feet.
Meanwhile the loud cracking which had startled him was followed by a crash awful beyond all telling, and I saw the whole roof of the cavern break away. Great rocks were falling all about us; behind, a black gulf had opened; whirling down from snow-clad peaks now for the first time visible, a mighty wind came sweeping, splashing the rain about as though some bursting reservoir had been suddenly emptied out upon our devoted heads, but through it all that same strange calmness still held its sway.
“Hope!” I cried, flinging one arm about Maurice who was sinking slowly down upon the rocky ledge. “Hope! This is not our end.”
Hope for what?
What could save us?
Yet above that awful din my voice arose loud enough for all to hear.
​Suddenly the rock upon which we stood began to crumble; huge fragments broke away at our very feet and went whirling down into the yawning gulf.
Hope!
The word was but mockery!
Chaos would have been more befitting, for chaos had surely come!