Many varieties of butterflies, frequently beautifully marked, fluttered about. Once Joe was lucky enough to catch one with his hand and at once passed it to Mr. Holton, who was nearest him.
They had trekked for over an hour when suddenly there arose a commotion in the rear ranks of the line of carriers.
“What’s that?” burst out Bob, turning on the instant. “Sounds like something’s the matter.”
Mr. Holton ran back down the path, followed by Bob, Joe, and the latter’s father.
Then they saw the cause of the disturbance. A veritable army of tiny red ants was attacking the bare feet of the bearers and was doing the job right. There must have been tens of thousands of the little creatures, for they were crawling about in great masses.
Noko shouted something in the native language, motioning and frowning indignantly. What he said the Americans never knew.
“Look at them,” said Joe excitedly. “Isn’t there anything they can do to beat them off?”
The natives were becoming frantic with fear and discomfort. They jumped about wildly in attempts to escape from the countless menacing hordes. Despite the seriousness of the matter, Bob and Joe could not help laughing at the actions of the natives.
“This ought to be a swell scene,” laughed Bob, focusing the movie camera on the dancing mob. “And it’s all genuine, too. No acting about it.”