Crip walked to the edge of the board and looked down. “Why, he isn’t dead.”
I looked, and, sure enough, he seemed to be alive. But on closer inspection I saw that a multitude of small black creatures had taken possession of the body.
“He is dead for certain,” I said. “Some bugs have seized him for prey.”
Crip looked again. “Why, those are black army ants,” he exclaimed; “one of the worst enemies a bee can meet. Sometimes, when they are hungry, they rush into the hive and help themselves. It is most difficult to deal with them. They nab you by the leg, when they do not sting you, and you cannot free yourself from their deadly grip.”
I looked at Crip in silence. Was there no end to perils?
“Let us hope they’ll travel on,” he added. “There’s plenty of food abroad for them. But tell me, where did you find that worm?”
“Back in the far corner. Come with me. I was cleaning out the débris when I came upon him.”
“Well, did you finish your task?”
I had quite forgotten it. I had been so absorbed in the fight that the original undertaking had gone out of mind.