it, and well-nigh blew away with leaf and all; hardly a foot of his
path was smooth-going. But he persisted, and I watched him reach the
nest, after two hours of tugging and falling and interference with
traffic.

Occasionally an ant will slip in crossing a twiggy crevasse, and his
leaf become tightly wedged. After sprawling on his back and vainly
clawing at the air for a while, he gets up, brushes off his antennae,
and sets to work. For fifteen minutes I have watched an Atta in this
predicament, stodgily endeavoring to lift his leaf while standing on
it at the same time. The equation of push equaling pull is fourth
dimensional to the Attas.

With all this terrible expenditure of energy, the activities of these
ants are functional within very narrow limits. The blazing sun causes
them to drop their burdens and flee for home; a heavy wind frustrates
them, for they cannot reef. When a gale arises and sweeps an exposed
portion of the trail, their only resource is to cut away all sail and
heave it overboard. A sudden downpour reduces a thousand banners and
waving, bright-colored petals to debris, to be trodden under foot.
Sometimes, after a ten-minute storm, the trails will be carpeted with
thousands of bits of green mosaic, which the outgoing hordes will
trample in their search for more leaves. On a dark night little seems
to be done; but at dawn and dusk, and in the moonlight or clear
starlight, the greatest activity is manifest.

Attas are such unpalatable creatures that they are singularly free
from dangers. There is a tacit armistice between them and the other
labor-unions. The army ants occasionally make use of their trails when
they are deserted; but when the two great races of ants meet, each
antennaes the aura of the other, and turns respectfully aside. When
termites wish to traverse an Atta trail, they burrow beneath it, or
build a covered causeway across, through which they pass and repass at
will, and over which the Attas trudge, uncaring and unconscious of its
significance.

Only creatures with the toughest of digestions would dare to include
these prickly, strong-jawed, meatless insects in a bill of fare. Now
and then I have found an ani, or black cuckoo, with a few in its
stomach: but an ani can swallow a stinging-haired caterpillar and
enjoy it. The most consistent feeder upon Attas is the giant marine
toad. Two hundred Attas in a night is not an uncommon meal, the exact
number being verifiable by a cou