All the Mowgli Stories (Macmillan Collector's Library)

Mowgli crawled out through the hole into the passage again, and the last that he saw was the White Cobra striking furiously with his harmless fangs at the stolid golden faces of the gods that lay on the floor, and hissing, ‘It is Death!’

They were glad to get to the light of day once more; and when they were back in their own jungle and Mowgli made the ankus glitter in the morning light, he was almost as pleased as though he had found a bunch of new flowers to stick in his hair.

‘This is brighter than Bagheera’s eyes,’ he said delightedly, as he twirled the ruby. ‘I will show it to him; but what did the Thuu mean when he talked of death?’

‘I cannot say. I am sorrowful to my tail’s tail that he felt not thy knife. There is always evil at Cold Lairs—above ground or below. But now I am hungry. Dost thou hunt with me this dawn?’ said Kaa.

‘No; Bagheera must see this thing. Good hunting!’ Mowgli danced off, flourishing the great ankus, and stopping from time to time to admire it, till he came to that part of the Jungle Bagheera chiefly used, and found him drinking after a heavy kill. Mowgli told him all his adventures from beginning to end, and Bagheera sniffed at the ankus between whiles. When Mowgli came to the White Cobra’s last words, the panther purred approvingly.

‘Then the White Hood spoke the thing which is?’ Mowgli asked quickly.

‘I was born in the King’s cages at Oodeypore, and it is in my stomach that I know some little of Man. Very many men would kill thrice in a night for the sake of that one big red stone alone.’

‘But the stone makes it heavy to the hand. My little bright knife is better; and—see! the red stone is not good to eat. Then why would they kill?’

‘Mowgli, go thou and sleep. Thou hast lived among men, and——’

‘I remember. Men kill because they are not hunting;—for idleness and pleasure. Wake again, Bagheera. For what use was this thorn-pointed thing made?’

Bagheera half opened his eyes—he was very sleepy—with a malicious twinkle.

‘It was made by men to thrust into the head of the sons of Hathi, so that the blood should pour out. I have seen the like in the street of Oodeypore, before our cages. That thing has tasted the blood of many such as Hathi.’

‘But why do they thrust into the heads of elephants?’

‘To teach them Man’s Law. Having neither claws nor teeth, men make these things—and worse.’

‘Always more blood when I come near, even to the things the Man-Pack have made,’ said Mowgli disgustedly. He was getting a little tired of the weight of the ankus. ‘If I had known this, I would not have taken it. First it was Messua’s blood on the thongs, and now it is Hathi’s. I will use it no more. Look!’

The ankus flew sparkling, and buried itself point down thirty yards away, between the trees. ‘So my hands are clean of Death,’ said Mowgli, rubbing his palms on the fresh, moist earth. ‘The Thuu said Death would follow me. He is old and white and mad.’

‘White or black, or death or life, I am going to sleep, Little Brother. I cannot hunt all night and howl all day, as do some folk.’

Bagheera went off to a hunting-lair that he knew, about two miles off. Mowgli made an easy way for himself up a convenient tree, knotted three or four creepers together, and in less time than it takes to tell was swinging in a hammock fifty feet above ground. Though he had no positive objection to strong daylight, Mowgli followed the custom of his friends, and used it as little as he could. When he walked among the very loud-voiced peoples that live in the trees, it was twilight once more, and he had been dreaming of the beautiful pebbles he had thrown away.

‘At least I will look at the thing again,’ he said, and slid down a creeper to the earth; but Bagheera was before him. Mowgli could hear him snuffing in the half-light.

‘Where is the thorn-pointed thing?’ cried Mowgli.

‘A man has taken it. Here is the trail.’

‘Now we shall see whether the Thuu spoke truth. If the pointed thing is Death, that man will die. Let us follow.’

‘Kill first,’ said Bagheera. ‘An empty stomach makes a careless eye. Men go very slowly, and the Jungle is wet enough to hold the lightest mark.’

They killed as soon as they could, but it was nearly three hours before they finished their meat and drink and buckled down to the trail. The Jungle-People know that nothing makes up for being hurried over your meals.

‘Think you the pointed thing will turn in the man’s hand and kill him?’ Mowgli asked. ‘The Thuu said it was Death.’

‘We shall see when we find,’ said Bagheera, trotting with his head low. ‘It is single-foot’ (he meant that there was only one man), ‘and the weight of the thing has pressed his heel far into the ground.’

‘Hai! This is as clear as summer lightning,’ Mowgli answered; and they fell into the quick, choppy trail-trot in and out through the checkers of the moonlight, following the marks of those two bare feet.

‘Now he runs swiftly,’ said Mowgli. ‘The toes are spread apart.’ They went on over some wet ground. ‘Now why does he turn aside here?’