66 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



Scouts crept from the jungle-edge at one side, 

 and from the post at my end, and felt their way, 

 fan-wise, over the rain-scoured surface; for the 

 odor, which was both sight and sound to these 

 ants, had been washed away — a more serious han- 

 dicap than mere change in contour. Swiftly the 

 wandering individuals found their bearings 

 again. There was deep water where dry land 

 bad been, but, as if by long-planned study of the 

 work of sappers and engineers, new pontoon 

 bridges were thrown across, washouts filled in, 

 new cliffs explored, and easy grades established; 

 and by the time the bamboos ceased their own 

 private after-shower, the columns were again 

 running smoothly, battalions of eager light in- 

 fantry hastening out to battle, and equal hosts 

 of loot-laden warriors hurrying toward the home 

 nest. Four minutes was the average time taken 

 to reform a column across the ten feet of open 

 clay, with all the road-making and engineering 

 feats which I have mentioned, on the part of ants 

 who had never been over this new route before. 



Leaning forward within a few inches of the 

 post, I lost all sense of proportion, forgot my 

 awkward human size, and with a new perspec- 

 tive became an equal of the ants, looking on. 



