“Nothing turns them aside but fire,” Akomo explained to Tom. “Sometimes not even fire. It is better we wait.”
Squatting, Chow removed his Stetson hat and fanned his dripping face. “Plumb disgustin’ I call it,” he snorted, “when a self-respectin’ cowhand has to wait fer a herd o’
trail-drivin’ ants!”
“Ever been stung by one?” Creel put in.
“If I ain’t, I reckon it’s the only critter what hasn’t sampled me. What’s it feel like?”
“Like a red-hot needle-that won’t come out,” Creel replied. “You can yank off the body and
CRAZY LAUGHTER 63
head, but the ant’s jaws stay locked on. The natives once used them for stitching up wounds.”
“Even elephants fear these ants,” Akomo added. “I have seen them strip a leopard to his bones.”
Chow gulped. “Mebbe it won’t hurt to sit a spell, at that,” he said.
More than two hours were lost before the march resumed. At last the equatorial twilight closed in and Akomo called a halt. Soon the tents had been pitched and campfires were blazing as the jungle cries and twitterings gave way to the steady drone of crickets.
“These jungle animals sure are sneaky,” Bud quipped. “I haven’t got a good look at one yet, except for a few monkeys.”
Just then something fell out of a tree and hit him on the head.
“Ouch!”
Creel pounced on the object. It looked like an oversized pine cone as he held it up to the firelight. “You spoke too soon, Bud,” he said.
“What in tarnation is that?” Chow asked.
“A long-tailed pangolin-a real prize!”
The anteater was curled in a tight ball, with its head completely hidden under the tail. It was covered with horny, overlapping scales.
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