170 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
stagger to his four and a half remaining legs, 
hoist his assailant, together with a mass of the 
midgets, high in air, and stagger for a few steps, 
before falling beneath the onrush of new attack- 
ers. It made me wish to help the great insect, 
who, for aught I knew, was doomed because he 
was different—because he had dared to be an 
individual. 
I left them struggling there, and half an hour 
later, when I returned, the episode was just com- 
ing to a climax. My Atta hero was exerting 
his last strength, flinging off the pile that as- 
saulted him, fighting all the easier because of the 
loss of his heavy body. He lurched forward, 
dragging the second giant, now dead, not to- 
ward the deserted trail or the world of jungle 
around him, but headlong into the lines of stupid 
leaf-carriers, scattering green leaves and flower- 
petals in all directions. Only when dozens of 
ants threw themselves upon him, many of them 
biting each other in their wild confusion, did he 
rear up for the last time, and, with the whole 
mob, rolled down into the yawning mouth of the 
Atta nesting-hole, disappearing from view, and 
carrying with him all those hurrying up the steep 
sides. It was a great battle. I was breathing 
