The Jungle Book (20 page)

But Mowgli naturally did not understand what these things meant. The knives interested him a little, but they did not balance as well as his own, and so he dropped them. At last he found something really fascinating laid on the front of a howdah half buried in the coins. It was a two-foot ankus, or
elephant goad—something like a small boat hook. The top was one round shining ruby, and eight inches of the handle below it were studded with rough turquoises close together, giving a most satisfactory grip. Below them was a rim of jade with a flower pattern running round it—only the leaves were emeralds, and the blossoms were rubies sunk in the cool, green stone. The rest of the handle was a shaft of pure ivory, while the point—the spike and hook—was gold-inlaid steel with pictures of elephant catching: and the pictures attracted Mowgli, who saw that they had something to do with his friend Hathi.

The White Cobra had been following him closely.

“Is it not worth dying to behold?” he said. “Have I not done thee a great favor?”

“I do not understand,” said Mowgli. “The things are hard and cold, and by no means good to eat. But this”—he lifted the ankus—“I desire to take away, that I may see it in the sun. Thou sayest they are all thine. Wilt thou give it to me, and I will bring thee frogs to eat?”

The White Cobra fairly shook with evil delight. “Assuredly I will give it,” he said. “All that is here I will give thee—till thou goest away.”

“But I go now. This place is dark and cold, and I wish to take the thorn-pointed thing to the jungle.”

“Look by thy foot! What is that there?”

Mowgli picked up something white and smooth. “It is the bone of a man’s head,” he said quietly. “And here are two more.”

“They came to take the treasure away many years ago. I spoke to them in the dark, and they lay still.”

“But what do I need of this that is called treasure? If thou wilt give me the ankus to take away, it is good hunting. If not, it is good hunting none the less. I do not fight with the Poison-People, and I was also taught the Master Word of thy tribe.”

“There is but one Master Word here. It is mine!”

Kaa flung himself forward with blazing eyes. “Who bade me bring the man?” he hissed.

“I surely,” the old Cobra lisped. “It is long since I have seen Man, and this man speaks our tongue.”

“But there was no talk of killing. How can I go to the jungle and say that I have led him to his death?” said Kaa.

“I talk not of killing till the time. And as to thy going or not going, there is the hole in the wall. Peace, now, thou fat monkey-killer! I have but to touch thy neck, and the jungle will know thee no longer. Never Man came here that went away with the breath under his ribs. I am the Warden of the Treasure of the King’s City!”

“But, thou white worm of the dark, I tell thee there is neither king nor city! The jungle is all about us!” cried Kaa.

“There is still the treasure. But this can be done. Wait a while, Kaa of the Rocks, and see the boy run. There is room for great sport here. Life is good. Run to and fro a while, and make sport, boy!”

Mowgli put his hand on Kaa’s head quietly.

“The white thing has dealt with men of the man pack until now. He does not know me,” he whispered. “He has asked for this hunting. Let him have it.” Mowgli had been standing with the ankus held point down. He flung it from him quickly, and it dropped crossways just behind the great snake’s hood, pinning him to the floor. In a flash, Kaa’s weight was upon the writhing body, paralyzing it from hood to tail. The red eyes burned, and the six spare inches of the head struck furiously right and left.

“Kill!” said Kaa, as Mowgli’s hand went to his knife.

“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”), 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 shamed. 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 and 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, Bagheera 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 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 streets 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 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 fifty yards away, between the trees. “So my hands are clean of Death,” said Mowgli, rubbing his hands 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 his 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 footmarks 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 in-toed 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 sit I 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 a 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.”

Not ten yards in front of them, stretched across a pile of broken rocks, lay the body of a villager of the district, a lean, 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 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 red and blue stones,” Bagheera answered. “Remember,
I
was in the King’s cages at Oodeypore.”