The Second Jungle Book
“No,” he said, as he drew the blade; “I will never kill again save for
food. But look you, Kaa!” He caught the snake behind the hood, forced
the mouth open with the blade of the knife, and showed the terrible
poison-fangs of the upper jaw lying black and withered in the gum. The
White Cobra had outlived his poison, as a snake will.
“THUU” (“It is dried up”--Literally, a rotted out tree-stump), said
Mowgli; and motioning Kaa away, he picked up the ankus, setting the
White Cobra free.
“The King’s Treasure needs a new Warden,” he said gravely. “Thuu, thou
hast not done well. Run to and fro and make sport, Thuu!”
“I am ashamed. Kill me!” hissed the White Cobra.
“There has been too much talk of killing. We will go now. I take the
thorn-pointed thing, Thuu, because I have fought and worsted thee.”
“See, then, that the thing does not kill thee at last. It is Death!
Remember, it is Death! There is enough in that thing to kill the men of
all my city. Not long wilt thou hold it, Jungle Man, nor he who takes it
from thee. They will kill, and kill, and kill for its sake! My strength
is dried up, but the ankus will do my work. It is Death! It is Death! It
is Death!”
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 waked 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?”
“Wait!” said Bagheera, and flung himself forward with one superb bound
as far as ever he could. The first thing to do when a trail ceases to
explain itself is to cast forward without leaving, your own confusing
foot-marks on the ground. Bagheera turned as he landed, and faced
Mowgli, crying, “Here comes another trail to meet him. It is a smaller
foot, this second trail, and the toes turn inward.”
Then Mowgli ran up and looked. “It is the foot of a Gond hunter,” he
said. “Look! Here he dragged his bow on the grass. That is why the first
trail turned aside so quickly. Big Foot hid from Little Foot.”
“That is true,” said Bagheera. “Now, lest by crossing each other’s
tracks we foul the signs, let each take one trail. I am Big Foot, Little
Brother, and thou art Little Foot, the Gond.”
Bagheera leaped back to the original trail, leaving Mowgli stooping
above the curious narrow track of the wild little man of the woods.
“Now,” said Bagheera, moving step by step along the chain of footprints,
“I, Big Foot, turn aside here. Now I hide me behind a rock and stand
still, not daring to shift my feet. Cry thy trail, Little Brother.”
“Now, I, Little Foot, come to the rock,” said Mowgli, running up his
trail. “Now, I sit down under the rock, leaning upon my right hand, and
resting my bow between my toes. I wait long, for the mark of my feet is
deep here.”
“I also,” said Bagheera, hidden behind the rock. “I wait, resting the end
of the thorn-pointed thing upon a stone. It slips, for here is a scratch
upon the stone. Cry thy trail, Little Brother.”
“One, two twigs and a big branch are broken here,” said Mowgli, in an
undertone. “Now, how shall I cry THAT? Ah! It is plain now. I, Little
Foot, go away making noises and tramplings so that Big Foot may hear
me.” He moved away from the rock pace by pace among the trees, his
voice rising in the distance as he approached a little cascade. “I--go,
far--away--to--where--the--noise--of--falling-water--covers--my--noise;
and--here--I--wait. Cry thy trail, Bagheera, Big Foot!”
The panther had been casting in every direction to see how Big Foot’s
trail led away from behind the rock. Then he gave tongue:
“I come from behind the rock upon my knees, dragging the thorn-pointed
thing. Seeing no one, I run. I, Big Foot, run swiftly. The trail is
clear. Let each follow his own. I run!”
Bagheera swept on along the clearly-marked trail, and Mowgli followed
the steps of the Gond. For some time there was silence in the Jungle.
“Where art thou, Little Foot?” cried Bagheera. Mowgli’s voice answered
him not fifty yards to the right.
“Um!” said the Panther, with a deep cough. “The two run side by side,
drawing nearer!”
They raced on another half-mile, always keeping about the same distance,
till Mowgli, whose head was not so close to the ground as Bagheera’s,
cried: “They have met. Good hunting--look! Here stood Little Foot, with
his knee on a rock--and yonder is Big Foot indeed!”
Not ten yards in front of them, stretched across a pile of broken rocks,
lay the body of a villager of the district, a long, small-feathered Gond
arrow through his back and breast.
“Was the Thuu so old and so mad, Little Brother?” said Bagheera gently.
“Here is one death, at least.”
“Follow on. But where is the drinker of elephant’s blood--the red-eyed
thorn?”
“Little Foot has it--perhaps. It is single-foot again now.”
The single trail of a light man who had been running quickly and bearing
a burden on his left shoulder held on round a long, low spur of dried
grass, where each footfall seemed, to the sharp eyes of the trackers,
marked in hot iron.
Neither spoke till the trail ran up to the ashes of a camp-fire hidden
in a ravine.
“Again!” said Bagheera, checking as though he had been turned into
stone.
The body of a little wizened Gond lay with its feet in the ashes, and
Bagheera looked inquiringly at Mowgli.
“That was done with a bamboo,” said the boy, after one glance. “I have
used such a thing among the buffaloes when I served in the Man-Pack.
The Father of Cobras--I am sorrowful that I made a jest of him--knew
the breed well, as I might have known. Said I not that men kill for
idleness?”
“Indeed, they killed for the sake of the red and blue stones,” Bagheera
answered. “Remember, I was in the King’s cages at Oodeypore.”
“One, two, three, four tracks,” said Mowgli, stooping over the ashes.
“Four tracks of men with shod feet. They do not go so quickly as Gonds.
Now, what evil had the little woodman done to them? See, they talked
together, all five, standing up, before they killed him. Bagheera, let
us go back. My stomach is heavy in me, and yet it heaves up and down
like an oriole’s nest at the end of a branch.”
“It is not good hunting to leave game afoot. Follow!” said the panther.
“Those eight shod feet have not gone far.”
No more was said for fully an hour, as they worked up the broad trail of
the four men with shod feet.
It was clear, hot daylight now, and Bagheera said, “I smell smoke.”
Men are always more ready to eat than to run, Mowgli answered, trotting
in and out between the low scrub bushes of the new Jungle they were
exploring. Bagheera, a little to his left, made an indescribable noise
in his throat.
“Here is one that has done with feeding,” said he. A tumbled bundle
of gay-coloured clothes lay under a bush, and round it was some spilt
flour.
“That was done by the bamboo again,” said Mowgli. “See! that white dust
is what men eat. They have taken the kill from this one,--he carried