Buldeo, who was still stooping over Shere Khan"s head, found himself sprawling on the grass, with a gray wolf standing over him, while Mowgli went on skinning as though he were alone in all India.
“Ye-es,” he said, between his teeth. “You are altogether right, Buldeo.
You wilt never give me one anna of the reward. There is an old war between this lame tiger and myself--a very old war, and--I have won.”
To do Buldeo justice, if he had been ten years younger he would have taken his chance with Akela had he met the wolf in the woods, but a wolf who obeyed the orders of this boy who had private wars with man-eating tigers was not a common animal. It was sorcery, magic of the worst kind,thought Buldeo, and he wondered whether the amulet round his neck would protect him. He lay as still as still, expecting every minute to see Mowgli turn into a tiger too.
“Maharaj！ Great King,” he said at last in a husky whisper.
“Yes,” said Mowgli, without turning his head, chuckling a little.
“I am an old man. I did not know that you wast anything more than a herdsboy. May I rise up and go away, or will your servant tearme to pieces？”
“Go, and peace go with you. Only, another time do not meddle with my game. Let him go, Akela.”
Buldeo hobbled away to the village as fast as he could, looking back over his shoulder in case Mowgli should change into something terrible.When he got to the village he told a tale of magic and enchantment and sorcery that made the priest look very grave.
Mowgli went on with his work, but it was nearly twilight before he and the wolves had drawn the great gay skin clear of the body.
“Now we must hide this and take the buffaloes home！ Help me to herd them, Akela.”
The herd rounded up in the misty twilight, and when they gotnear the village Mowgli saw lights, and heard the conches and bells inthe temple blowing and banging. Half the village seemed to be waitingfor him by the gate. “That is because I have killed Shere Khan,”
he said to himself. But a shower of stones whistled about his ears, andthe villagers shouted:“Sorcerer！ Wolf"s brat！ Jungle demon！ Goaway！ Get hence quickly or the priest will turn you into a wolf again.
Shoot, Buldeo, shoot！”
The old Tower musket went off with a bang, and a young buffalobellowed in pain.
“More sorcery！” shouted the villagers. “He can turn bullets.
Buldeo, that was your buffalo.”
“Now what is this？”said Mowgli, bewildered, as the stonesflew thicker.
“They are not unlike the Pack, these brothers of thine,” saidAkela,sitting down composedly. “It is in my head that, if bullets meananything,they would cast you out.”
“Wolf！ Wolf"s cub！ Go away！” shouted the priest, wavinga sprig of the sacred tulsi plant.
“Again？ Last time it was because I was a man. This time it isbecause I am a wolf. Let us go, Akela.”
A woman--it was Messua--ran across to the herd, and cried:
“Oh, my son, my son！ They say you are a sorcerer who can turnhimself into a beast at will. I do not believe, but go away or they willkill you. Buldeo says you are a wizard, but I know you hast avengedNathoo"s death.”
“Come back, Messua！” shouted the crowd. “Come back, orwe will stone you.”
Mowgli laughed a little short ugly laugh, for a stone had hit him in the mouth. “Run back, Messua. This is one of the foolish tales they tell under the big tree at dusk. I have at least paid for your son"s life. Farewell; and run quickly, for I shall send the herd in more swiftly than their brickbats. I am no wizard, Messua. Farewell！”
“Now, once more, Akela,” he cried. “Bring the herd in.”
The buffaloes were anxious enough to get to the village. They hardly needed Akela"s yell, but charged through the gate like a whirlwind,scattering the crowd right and left.
“Keep count！” shouted Mowgli scornfully. “It may be that I have stolen one of them. Keep count, for I will do your herding no more. Fare you well, children of men, and thank Messua that I do not come in with my wolves and hunt you up and down your street.”
