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THIRD NIGHT
THE STORIES OF GIDAR, THE JACKAL,
AND COYOTE, THE PRAIRIE WOLF

"To-night," commenced Sa'-zada, "we are to have the interesting life story of the two half-brothers, Gidar and Coyote."

"A thief's tale of a certainty," chuckled Magh.

"In my land, which was Burma, there were none so useful as we," began Gidar. "Not of high repute our mission, perhaps, but still useful, being scavengers; and to this end we are all born with a fair appetite; but useful always, even Bagh knows that. I was Lieutenant to one of his kind – a great killer he was – for a matter of two years. Then he came by way of a dispute with the Men-kind, and they finished him in short order.

"Now, you know, Brothers, our kind have steadily worked southward from India, pushing into new lands from all time, even like the Sahibs, until we are now half down through Burma. It must be a dull land that has not our sweet song at night. If there were but a Pack here now we'd sing you a rare chorus."

"I've heard the song," quoth Bagh; "it's wretched."

"How goes it?" asked Wolf. "Our Pack has a cry of great strength; the 'bells of the forest,' the Redmen call it."

"It's somewhat this way," said Jackal, and sitting on his haunches he raised his long, sharp nozzle high in air, stretching his lean throat toward the moon that glinted fretfully through the swaying trees; and on the still, quiet night air floated his cry of far-off India:

"'Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-o-o-o-o-o!

I smell a dead Hindoo-oo!'

"That would be my cry, Brothers. Then from all quarters of the jungle the Pack would take up the song and sing back:

"'Where, where, where, where, where, where?'

"And I would answer back cheerily:

"'Here, here, here, here, here, here!'

"Then all together we would sing with all our lungs:

"'Oo-oo-oo-o-o-o-o-h

Mussulman or Hind-oo?

Here, there, or anywhere,

All flesh is flesh, we do not care.'"

"A charming song," sneered Magh.

"Ah, I cannot give it right; you should have heard it, little Eater-of-sour-fruit, in the dead closeness of a Burman jungle, from the many throats of a hungry Pack.

"The people of that land liked the song full well, and they never molested us. But life was one continuous struggle for food. We were not slayers like Chita, or Bagh, or Python; or stealers of crops like Boar and Rogue Hathi; almost as simple in our way of life as Mooswa.

"I remember once a fat Dog-pup of the Terrier kind, which I bagged. It was all the fault of the Pup's master; he tried to kill me."

"You had probably been singing to him," said Sa'-zada.

"We had, I admit," answered Jackal. "It was on Borongo Island; two men, Sahibs they were called there, you know, lived in a bungalow built on high posts, after the manner of all houses in that land. The bungalow was built on the shore, and every day the water came up under it, and then went back again. This was a most wise arrangement of the water's traveling, for it threw up many a dead Fish and Crab for our eating.

"Well I remember the cook-house was a little to one side from the bungalow, with a poor, ill-conditioned bamboo door to it. Regularly, doing our scavenger work, we used to clean up that cook-house, eating everything the servant-kind had not devoured. Several times I made a great find in that very place, for the cook, it appears, was a most forgetful fellow. When there was nothing left for us in the way of food, we'd carry off the pots and pans into the jungle grass; why, I hardly know, but it seemed proper to do so.

"Neither do I know which of the Pack first started singing under the bungalow; but this also afforded us much content. Many hours on in the dark we'd all steal gently down from the jungle, and gather under the house. Then, as one, we'd give voice to the hunger cry together, until even the Sahibs would shout in fear. It was good to make the Men-kind afraid; but also we would flee swiftly, for the two Sahibs would rush out like a jackal that had suddenly become possessed of much poisoned meat, and 'bang, bang, bang' with the guns.

"I had much to do with Men, and just when I thought they were full cross because of our serenade, what was my surprise to find each evening a full measure of rice put in a certain place for me. 'It is full of the datura' (poison), I thought, and watched while a lean Pariah Dog from the village ate it. But there was nothing wrong with it. So the next evening I made haste to get a full share of it myself. As I ate, hurriedly I must say, twang-g! came a mighty Boar-spear.

"But only the shaft of it struck my back, so I made off with great diligence. I heard the Sahib say as he picked up the spear, 'Missed him, by Jove!' You see, he had been hiding in a corner of the bungalow. But I was hungry, and the rice was good – most delicious – so I crept back with two comrades, and keeping to the thick grass, stalked the bungalow most carefully. I saw the Sahibs all at their eating, for the door was open, it being hot; you see, he thought I wouldn't come back so soon.

"'I will eat with you,' I said, and made straight for the rice; but it was nearly all gone; the Terrier Pup of which I have spoken, and which belonged to this very Sahib who had thrown the spear, was just finishing his Master's bait.

"'Oh, you wicked Dog!' I said, 'to steal my supper this way,' and knowing that his master was in the habit of throwing spears at that very spot, I picked him up and carried him to the jungle for safety.

"'Oh, oh E-u-u-h!' how he squealed, and the Men-kind left their eating, and came rushing after us with much shouting, but it was dark and they had no chance of catching us."

"And you ate the poor little fellow?" asked Mooswa.

"Horrible!" cried Magh, "to eat a Dog."

"Not at all bad stuffed with rice, I assure you," declared Gidar. "For a day or two I kept more or less out of the way; I was afraid the Sahibs might be very angry.

"It was two nights after this I discovered more rice some distance from the bungalow in a pail which was sunk in the ground, and over this stood a couple of posts that had not been there before. I remembered that, so I sat by quietly watching this new thing, and trying to decide what it might be.

"Now the Sahibs had two pigs, and as I watched, along came these two, grunting, and shoving things about with their long noses, and presently one of them discovered the rice in the pail.

"'Ugh, ugh, ugh!' said he, 'just a mouthful of this will do me good.' You know, of course, a pig eats first and thinks after, so in this case he plunged his big head in the pail, and 'zip! whang!' went something, and before I could jump to my feet he was dangling in the air hung by the neck; he didn't even have a chance to squeal. Of course his mate took to his heels and cleared out, while I finished the rice, knowing the evil was in the custody of my Squeaker friend. In the morning the Pig was dead."

"It's a fine thief's tale," commented Magh, "but in the end they caught you right enough."

"Not there," corrected Gidar; "that was another place. A Sahib who had come to the jungle seeking dwellers for such places as this, made the taking; but with him one might as well be caught first as last, for he knew more of our ways than we knew of his. Now let Coyote speak; I am tired."

"Does Coyote come from Burma, too, O Sa'-zada?" queried Magh.

"No, he's from Mooswa's country; from the great plains away in the far West. There is not much in The Book about Coyote; that is, not much that's good."

"I knew it," laughed Magh; "I've watched him there in his cage which is opposite mine, day after day, and I never saw a smile on his face."

"You should be put in the cage with Hyena," declared Coyote, "if you think an animal has got to grin all the time to be of fair nature. Or of what use are you, little pot-belly, or the whole of your tribe – Hanuman, Hooluk, or Chimpanzee – none of you worth the nuts you eat; and yet you're always grinning and chattering, and playing fool tricks about the cage. You're a fine one to judge your fellow creatures."

"Coyote just sits there and scratches Fleas, and growls, and snaps at his mate – he's a low-born sort of Wolf," continued Magh.

"He's not of our kind," declared Wolf; "it's all a lie."

"Never mind, never mind," cried Sa'-zada, "no doubt like all the rest of us he has his good and bad qualities."

"I was once starving," resumed Coyote. "You who have lived in a warm land where something is growing all the year round, know nothing of the hunger that comes when the fierce blizzard blots out everything, and there is only snow, snow, everywhere. Can one eat snow? It's all very fine for you with a paunch full of candy to sit there and prate about stealing, but if Wie-sak-ke-chack puts the hunger pains in one's stomach and the fat bacon – Ghurr-h-h! but the juice of it is sweet when one is near dead – puts the fat bacon behind log walls, what is one to do, eh? Does a fellow dig, dig, dig through earth so hard that he must bite it out with his teeth, dig deep under the log walls for sport as the Cubs play in the sunshine, or just to steal? Bah, you who have never known hunger know not of this thing. Why, once when the ground was frozen hard, and I was dying inch by inch, some fierce-toothed Animal inside me biting, biting – only of course it was the hunger chewing at my stomach – I dove fair through the window of a log shack to get at the meat inside. The glass cut me, to be sure, but that was nothing to the hunger pain that goes on, on, never ceasing until there is food, or one is dead.

"I saved a man's life once at a post called Stand-Off. The place came by its name in the days of a mighty fight when my Man and his comrades stood off the Mounted Police. These Men had been given as bad a name as Coyotes even. My Man may have been bad, too; but how was I to know, being only a Coyote? He was always throwing me bones and pieces of bread, and whistling to me, and calling me Jack.

"Now this place Stand-Off was on the river flat, and one night in spring-time I heard a great flood coming down the Belly River. It was a still night, and the noise of the rushing water came to my ears for miles, but the Men heard it not, for they were all in the Shacks. Fast I galloped down over the flat near to the Shack where was this Man who had often thrown me a bone. I whimpered, and whistled, and barked the danger call, and howled the death-coming song, and finally my friend came to the door and threw a stick of wood at me, and spoke fierce oaths. Then he shut the door. I could hear the roaring getting louder and louder, and knew that soon it would be too late for all the Men-kind; not that I cared, except for this one. On one side of the town was the swift-running Belly River, and beyond a high-cut bank; on my side was the flat land that would soon be many feet deep with ice and rushing water. So I howled louder than ever, and he came out and strove to kill me with a Firestick, but I only ran a little piece into the darkness, and howled again.

"Being a Man of much temper he chased me, and the noise brought out the others, for they thought it was Indians. I sought to lead him over to the side of the flat land which was next the sloping hill, knowing full well that the new water would flow there first.

"All at once he ceased running behind me, and I, who was listening, knew that he scarce breathed he was that still. Now, he will hear it, I thought; and in an instant I heard him cry to the others: 'Boys, we must pull out from this – there's a devil of a freshet coming.' That was the way of the Men from Stand-Off; many strange words of a useless need.

"I tell you, Comrades, it was soon an awful night; here and there the Men ran trying to save something – their Horses and guns for most part, even some of the evil firewater; and the strong swearings they used sounded but just as the whimpering of Wolf Pups, the wind was that fierce, carrying the dreadful roar of the Chinook flood.

"You who have heard Bagh and Hathi scolding at each other, with perhaps Black Panther and Bald Eagle taking part, may know somewhat the like of that night's noises.

"Seeing that my Man was coming riding swiftly on his Cayuse, I, too, ran quickly for the upland; but, as I have said, just in the hollow which was there, being the trail where once had run the river, the flood was rushing even as I have seen it in the foot-hills – the flat land was surrounded.

"As the Men galloped up they stopped, and spoke evil words at the flood, rushing up and down looking for a ford. I also was afraid to cross.

"Suddenly I thought me of a place I knew well lower down, wondrous like a Beaver dam, though I think there had been no Beavers in the land since Chief Mountain was a hole in the ground. I barked, to call my Man friend, and ran toward this spot.

"'There goes that locoed Coyote,' I heard him say; 'he's trailing for a crossing; damned if I don't follow him. Come on, you fellows,' and after me they galloped like madmen.

"Just below the place that was like a dam the water was not too bad, for the ice had jammed up above, and it was spreading out all over the flat. I plunged in, for, Comrades, it was a time of great hurry. Swimming a river is not of my liking – none of my kind like it – but this seemed an evil night altogether, with no choice but to reach the uplands.

"'Sure thing! the Coyote's dead to rights on this outfit,' I heard my Man say; and wallow, wallow, in the bronchos came, splashing and snorting. And so we crossed just as the ice broke in the jam, and swept down like the swift rolling of many stones. I heard my Man say as they all got down from the horses to empty the water out of their long boots, 'If I ever clap peeps on to that Coyo again, I'll shove grub pile into him till he busts. Strike me dead if he hasn't saved the whole outfit of us.'

"Anyway I knew there would be much feeding and no harm if I kept close to these evil Men-kind, for they were great givers.

"I sought to save the one man, and if there be any credit it comes to me because of that; the others followed him, and even they said he had saved them."

"I think it is a true tale," declared Mooswa, "for I once had a happening in saving the life of a Boy who had been good to me."

"What happened to the Men's place, Dog-Wolf?" queried Sa'-zada.

"In the morning there was nothing – nothing but great pieces of ice all over the flat. Then the Men trailed for a place called Slideout, where were more evil men of the firewater way of life, and I followed, arranging it so that my Man saw me, and that day when he killed an Antelope, he left a sweet piece of the eating for me; and I might have lived all my life close to their camp in great fatness, but for the evil chance that drew the Men-kind close to a place called MacLeod. And it was there, being pursued by ferocious yellow-haired Dogs, I hid in a Hen-house and was caught. At first they were for killing me, but there happened a Man-Pup of that house who cried for me as his Doggie, and later came one of the Men-kind, gave blankets in exchange for me, and I was sent here to the place where is Sa'-zada."

"He is either a great liar, or not so bad as is written in The Book," commented Sher Abi, the Crocodile; "but in my land where was his Brother, the Jackal, I never heard good of his kind."

"I am sure it is a true tale," declared Sa'-zada; "Coyote could not have made it up."

FOURTH NIGHT
THE STORY OF RAJ BAGH, THE KING TIGER

While the Keeper Sa'-zada was still loitering over his tea, there came to his ears an imperious roaring call "Wah-h-h! Wah-h-h! Wah-houh!"

"This is the Tiger's night, indeed," he muttered to himself. "Old Raj Bagh is eager to tell us the tale of his life." Then he hurried down to their cages and corrals saying, "Come, comrades; the King of the Jungle calls us."

"We shall have strong tales of blood-letting to-night," muttered Magh the Orang-Outang.

"King of the Jungle, indeed!" sneered Hathi, the Elephant. "When I was Lord of the jungle I knew no king – that is, amongst the animals."

"Now," began Sa'-zada, opening The Book, when the Jungle Dwellers had all gathered in front of Bagh, the killer's cage; "now we shall know all about Huzoor Stripes. And mind you, Hathi, and all the rest, there must be no anger, for Bagh's way of life has not been of his own making; for with his kind it is their nature to kill that which they eat."

"I was born in Chittagong," began Bagh, "and well I remember the little Nullah in which my Mother kept me, a big tea garden spread over three hills just near our hiding place, and there was always much good eating.

"For months after I was born my Mother made me hide in the Nullah. That was always in the evening. And as for hiding, how anyone can get along without stripes in his coat I can't understand. Let me hide in a grass field where the sun throws sharp shadows up and down across everything and I'll give my ration of meat for the week to anyone who can see me three lengths of my tail away."

"Where was your Mother all this time?" queried Magh, tauntingly.

"To be sure," answered Bagh, "she would be away for hours making the kill, and when she came back would lick my face, and teach me the sweet smell of new meat and hot blood. Then the next evening, just as it was getting dark, she would take me with her to the kill, which was usually a Cow, and which she had very cunningly hidden in elephant grass, or a bamboo clump, or some little Nullah. There would be still half of it left. I grew big and strong, and longed to make a kill on my own account.

"But that year a terrible thing happened to the Buffaloes and Cows upon which we depended for food. They were all down in the Flat Lands, which is close by the sea, and one day when the jungle was much torn by strong, fierce winds, a great water came over the land, and ate up all the Cattle, and many of the Men-kind. Then, indeed, we fairly starved, for the few that were left were kept close to the bamboo houses of the villagers. Night after night, even in the day-time, my Mother and I sought for the chances of a kill, for I had grown big at that time, and she took me with her. We were really starving; perhaps a small Chital (deer), or a Dog, or something came our way once in a while, but the pain in my stomach was so great that I moaned, and moaned, and I believe it was because of me that my Mother became a Man-killer."

"Horrible!" exclaimed Mooswa. "Became a killer of the Men-kind? Dreadful!"

"I, too, have killed Men," asserted Raj Bagh; "and why is it so evil, my big-nosed eater-of-grass? Your food is the leaves of the jungle, and you have it with you always. When you are hungry you walk, walk, and soon you come to where there is much food, and you eat, and with you that is all right – there is no evil in it. As Sa'-zada has said, it is our way of life to kill our eating. When there is no Chital we kill Sambhur; when there are no Deer we kill Pigs, or even Buffalo; when there is nothing but Man, and we are changed from our usual way of kill by great hunger, we slay Man. With all Dwellers of the Jungle, there is fear of the Men-kind, that is all, nothing but fear; and when once that is broken we kill the Men-kind even as any other Jungle Dweller."

"Little Brother," began Sa'-zada, "it is spoken amongst my Kind, that a Man-killer is always an old, broken-toothed Tiger, full-manged, and of evil ways; and that once having tasted human flesh he becomes a killer of nothing else."

"Ha-hauk!" laughed Bagh, "those be silly Jungle tales. Am I broken-toothed, or full of a mange, or is Raj Bagh? All a lie, Little Master, all a lie. It is but a chance of the Jungle that makes a Man-killer, even as I will tell, and the taste of the flesh is not more than the taste of meat.

"Yes," he continued, "I was with my Mother that day, the first day of the Man-kill, and in my stomach was a great pain like the biting of Red Ants. It was near the coming of night, and we crept down into the tea garden where there were many of the coolie kind working amongst the bushes. I think my Mother was looking for a stray dog, or perhaps a small Bullock; but the coolies seeing us cried aloud in their fright, 'Bagh hai!' and ran. I think it was this that made my Mother charge suddenly amongst them, for if they had stood and looked at us I'm sure we should have turned and gone away; but in the charge a Man fell. Baghni seized him by the neck, threw him on her back, and we both galloped into the jungle. After that, whenever we were hungry we went back to the tea garden in just the same way.

"But one day a coolie saw us first and ran to his master's bungalow crying with much fear. Neither of us thought anything of that, for it was as they had done before; so we went on down in the little Nullah between the hills, looking sharply for others of the Black Workers. Suddenly I heard a noise as of something approaching.

"'Keep still, O Baghela,' said Baghni, 'here cometh one of the Men-kind, and I will make a kill.'

"As we waited, presently there was no sound. 'The kill has gone away,' I whispered to Baghni, but she struck me hard with her tail, almost knocking some of my teeth out; that was to keep still. There was not even any scent of the Men-kind in the wind now; most surely he had gone away, I thought. What a silly old Baghni my Mother must be.

"I heard a soft whistle behind me, 'Sp-e-e-t!' just like that, much as you've heard Hawk in his cage call. When I looked around there was one of the White-face, even the Sahib of the tea garden. I knew him, for I had seen him once before. In his hand he held what I have since learned was a thunder-stick. I looked in his eyes for perhaps three lashes of my tail, but I could see there nothing of the Man-fear Hathi has told us of. Such eyes I have never seen in any animal's head; not yellow like those of my kind, nor red and black like Hathi's, nor even dull brown like Korite the killer's; just of a quiet color like a tiny bit of the sky coming between the leaves of the forest.

"What was he waiting for, I thought. Baghni had not heard him, for she did not turn her head. Then he made the call like Hawk's again, and Baghni turned her head even as I had, and looked full at him, but he did not run away.

"Now feeling something lifted from me, because his eyes were on Baghni, I think, I looked again sideways from the corner of my eye. Baghni had set her ears tight back, and drawn her lip up in a cross snarl, so that her teeth, almost the length of Boar's tusks, said as plain as could be, 'Now I will crush your back.' But still in his eyes that were like bits of sky was not the Man-fear; if I had seen it there most surely I had charged straight at his throat, for I was angry, and still, I think, filled with much fear.

"Then Baghni turned around, crouched with her head low, looking straight at him. As she did so, the Sahib raised his thunder-stick, there was an awful noise from it, I heard Baghni scream 'Gur-houk!' and she had charged. I, too, followed her, thinking she had got this Man who was our kill; but just beyond in the Nullah, even the length of Bainsa's corral from here, I saw her on her side tearing up the tea bushes with her great paws. I stopped for the length of two breaths, but I could see that there was something very wrong – she was going to sleep. Then the greatest fear that I have ever known came over me, and I galloped fast into the jungle to where was my hiding-place."

"They had killed your Mother, had they, Bagh?" asked Mooswa.

"I think so, for I never saw her again. I was afraid to go back where the men labored, and, as I had said, there were no Bullocks, and I nearly starved to death."

"But how did they catch you?" queried Magh.

"It was all because of my hunger. When I was not stronger than a jungle Bakri (sheep), not having eaten for days and days, I heard one night a Pariah Dog howling in the jungle. It took me hours to know that there was no danger near this crying one of the Dog-kind. I went round and round in circles that I had made smaller each time, and drew the wind from all sides into my nose to see if there was the Man scent. There was nothing but the Pariah, and by some means he had got into a hole. Of course, afterwards I knew it was the evil work of this Sahib who had killed Baghni. Such a hole the Pariah was in, it was as long as these two cages, and though wide at the bottom, it was small at the top, even like the cover of Magh's house yonder. I crawled in and caught the Dog in my strong jaws. Sweet flesh! how he howled when he knew I was coming.

"Then with a crash something fell behind me, and closed the hole so I could not get out, and at once I heard them shouting."

"Where had they come from so soon?" queried Magh.

"They were up in the jungle trees," answered Bagh.

"I think it is a fine lie," grunted Boar. "Do you mean to say, Bagh, that you could not see them in the trees?"

"You have little knowledge of my kind, Piggy. Know you not that when going through the jungle we never look up?"

"I do," interrupted Raj Bagh, "but I learned the trick. Brother Bagh is right, though; I suppose it comes from always looking for our kill on the ground, and I have heard that this is why the Hunters so often kill us from Machans (shooting rest in a tree). We never see them until we are struck."

"The Men were all about the hole," continued Bagh, "and it was he of the white face that cried, 'Don't kill him, don't stick him with the spears! He is only a Baghela, and we will take him alive for Sa'-zada.'

"They dug little holes from the top, and bound me with strong ropes; it was so narrow I couldn't turn round, you see. Then I was sent here to Sa'-zada. Though he is good to me, still I wish I was back in my old jungle."

"Ah-h-houk! Great Brothers," roared Raj Bagh. "My mate has told you of Chittagong and his tea gardens, but the middle jungles in India is the place for a Tiger to rule; and for years I was Lord of the Sumna Forests, and the terror of the Gonds, the little black-faced Men who are wondrous Shikaris. Close grass. Waw-hough! but it was beautiful there. The many red faces of the chewal tree smiled at me, and the purple ears of the sal tree listened to my roar till its great branches trembled in fear. Close hid in the Khagar grass I would lie and sleep all through the long hot day, and the little Gonds, even the big, white-faced Men, might pass the length of this cage from me, and not know that I was there. But I would know. Talking, talking always they would go, and if they were up wind, my nose would find them many jumps away.

"I was born there, and Baghni, my Mother, and Sher Bagh, my Sire, taught me all that a Tiger should know of the ways of the Men-kind. But in the end both of them came to their death through the evil ways of these seekers for our lives. Wah, wah, wah-hough! I am a Man-killer. And why not?"

"You should be ashamed to say so," cried Magh, petulantly, "and before Sa'-zada, too."

"Wah! I was a Man-killer," repeated Raj Bagh, "a killer of many Men, but it was not my fault. When I was a cub my Sire was Lord of the Sumna Jungles; and close to our lair was a jhil to which all animals of those parts came to drink when they were hot, and the hills blazed red with the evil fire of the little Gonds. Chetal, and Nilgai, and Sambhur, and the Ribbed-Faced Deer that coughed like a Wild Dog; even Chinkara, the little Gazelle that is but a mouthful for one of my needs – all came there when the forest grew dark; and always when we were hungry, which was often, more came than went away. It was ever the same with Sher Bagh, who was my Sire, and Baghni, always the same way in a kill with them. In those days I watched it often, for I, being a Bagheela, took no part except in the eating. Chita walks not softer in his cage than Sher Bagh would step through the jungle when he was stalking a kill; and then at the end with a rush it was all over.

"But one year it became so hot – why, the rocks burned our pads as we walked; so hot that our jhil dried up, and none of the Jungle Dwellers came to drink. It was hot, so hot, and never a drop of the sweet water falling. The fire crept down from the hills and ate up the small part of the jungle and the grass, and I think the Jungle Dwellers went to other parts. At any rate, as Brother Bagh has said, we were sore distressed for a kill. Of course, we could go and drink where the other Dwellers dared not, close to the villages of the little Gonds. I remember, being but a Baghela and having little wisdom, saying to Baghni, 'Why do we not kill Goru (cattle) and Bainsa, who are here in the hands of the Men-kind?' But Sher Bagh, who had lived into much wisdom, growled, and striking me hard with his paw, said, 'Little one, that way comes the full hate of the Men-kind, and we who fear not the Dwellers in the Jungle, fear Man.'

"But still we became more hungry, and Baghni, whose milk was my only food, grew unwise and said, 'Let us kill the Goru.' But Sher Bagh growled at her, and said again, 'That way comes the hate of the Men-kind. Now when these little men who are Gonds pass near to me in the jungle, they salaam and say, "Peace be with you, Sher Bagh, Huzoor Bagh"; and they go in peace, and the fear that is on me when I look in their eyes passes away.'

"For many nights after that we wandered far through the jungle, I with Baghni, and Sher Bagh by himself in another part. And in the days that were so hot, as I slept, great times of blood drinking and sweet meat-eating came to my mind – but when I woke there was nothing – nothing but hunger pains in my stomach. It was also this way with Baghni and Sher Bagh. Many times Baghni said, 'Let us kill the Goru, for of what use is the good will of the Men-kind if we die?'

"At last Sher Bagh also became unwise, and said, 'We will kill the Goru, for Baghela and you, Baghni, are starving. When the Goru feed in a herd to-morrow, even in the time of light – which, of course, was the day – together we will creep close in the much-thorned korinda, and kill a Cow; for if we kill one in a herd there will be less trouble, and perhaps it will not be missed of the Men-kind.' Wah! I shall never forget the sweet eating of that Goru. And the drink of blood! Che-hough! it was as though I had been athirst since my birth.