ent to kill?
_Brother, he crops in the jungle still_.
Where is the power that made your pride?
_Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side_.
Where is the haste that ye hurry by?
_Brother, I go to my lair to die_.

When Mowgli left the wolf's cave after the fight with the Pack at the
Council Rock, he went down to the ploughed lands where the villagers
lived, but he would not stop there because it was too near to the
jungle, and he knew that he had made at least one bad enemy at the
Council. So he hurried on, keeping to the rough road that ran down
the valley, and followed it at a steady jog-trot for nearly twenty
miles, till he came to a country that he did not know. The valley
opened out into a great plain dotted over with rocks and cut up by
ravines. At one end stood a little village, and at the other the
thick jungle came down in a sweep to the grazing-grounds, and stopped
there as though it had been cut off with a hoe. All over the plain,
cattle and buffaloes were grazing, and when the little boys in charge
of the herds saw Mowgli they shouted and ran away, and the yellow
pariah dogs that hang about every Indian village barked. Mowgli
walked on, for he was feeling hungry, and when he came to the village
gate he saw the big thornbush that was drawn up before the gate at
twilight, pushed to one side.

'Umph!' he said, for he had come across more than one such barricade
in his night rambles after things to eat. 'So men are afraid of the
People of the Jungle here also.' He sat down by the gate, and when a
man came out he stood up, opened his mouth, and pointed down it to
show that he wanted food. The man stared, and ran back up the one
street of the village, shouting for the priest, who was a big, fat
man dressed in white, with a red and yellow mark on his forehead.
The priest came to the gate, and with him at least a hundred people,
who stared and talked and shouted and pointed at Mowgli.

'They have no manners, these Men Folk,' said Mowgli to himself.
'Only the gray ape would behave as they do.' So he threw back his
long hair and frowned at the crowd.

'What is there to be afraid of?' said the priest. 'Look at the marks
on his arms and legs. They are the bites of wolves. He is but a
wolf-child run away from the jungle.'

Of course, in playing together, the cubs had often nipped Mowgli
harder than they intended, and there were white scars all over his
arms and legs. But