ACROSS UNKNOWN SOUTH AMERICA 
In any case, I beg the reader to realize how pleasant 
it was to have the muzzle of a loaded rifle, ready to be 
fired, pointing at you in front for an average of eight to 
twelve hours a day for several months. I generally rode 
last in the caravan in order to prevent straggling, and 
also to see that any baggage which fell off the pack-saddles 
was recovered. This was unpleasant in more ways than 
one: first the clouds of dust raised by the animals, as we 
marched over the sand and cinders, filled my eyes, mouth, 
and nose; then the constant attention to watch for lost 
baggage, besides the work of writing my notes as we rode 
along. The sound of the dangling bells on the mules was 
monotonous to a degree, and so was the aspect of the 
animals’ tails, swinging and slashing from one side to the 
other in order to drive away tormenting flies. Occa¬ 
sionally, when stung fiercely by a horse-fly, one or two 
animals would dash away wildly, tearing off in their 
career low branches of trees and even altogether knocking 
down good-sized trees, four or five inches in diameter. 
This would seem impossible in any other country, but 
not in Brazil, where the majority of the trees were nearly 
entirely eaten up inside by ants. The roots, owing to 
the substratum of lava spread horizontally near the sur¬ 
face, offered little resistance to side pressure upon the tree 
itself, so that frequently even the weight of a man leaning 
against a tree was sufficient to knock it down. I never 
shall forget how impressed I was the first time I saw 
my men cut the way through the forest, slashing down, 
right and left, good-sized trees with one swing each 
of their falcon — heavy-bladed knives some two feet 
long. 
What terrific strength! I thought, until I happened 
to lean against a tree, and down went the tree and myself 
too. Upon examination I found that merely the bark 
remained, with a few filaments inside, the rest of the 
interior having been entirely devoured by ants. Yet some 
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