THE LURE OF KAHTABO 7 



early days had any fewer sins to their credit than 

 Case's convicts and I doubted it. 



Across my doorstep a line of leaf -cutting ants 

 was passing, each bearing aloft a huge bit of 

 green leaf, or a long yellow petal, or a halberd of 

 a stamen. A shadow fell over the line, and I 

 looked up to see an anthropomorphic enlarge- 

 ment of the ants, the convicts winding up the 

 steep bank, each with cot, lamp, table, pitcher, 

 trunk, or aquarium balanced on his head, all 

 my possessions suspended between earth and sky 

 by the neck-muscles of worthy sinners. The first 

 thing to be brought in was a great war-bag 

 packed to bursting, and Number 214, with eight 

 more years to serve, let it slide down his shoul- 

 der with a grunt the self -same sound that I 

 have heard from a Tibetan woman carrier, and 

 a Mexican peon, and a Japanese porter, 

 all of whom had in past years toted this very 

 bag. 



I led the way up the steps, and there in the 

 doorway was a tenant, one who had already 

 taken possession, and who now faced me and 

 the trailing line of convicts with that dignity, 

 poise, and perfect self-possession which only a 

 toad, a giant grandmother of a toad, can ex- 



