agers looked in the
morning they saw their crops were lost. And that meant death if they did
not get away, for they lived year in and year out as near to starvation
as the Jungle was near to them. When the buffaloes were sent to graze
the hungry brutes found that the deer had cleared the grazing-grounds,
and so wandered into the Jungle and drifted off with their wild mates;
and when twilight fell the three or four ponies that belonged to the
village lay in their stables with their heads beaten in. Only Bagheera
could have given those strokes, and only Bagheera would have thought of
insolently dragging the last carcass to the open street.

The villagers had no heart to make fires in the fields that night, so
Hathi and his three sons went gleaning among what was left; and where
Hathi gleans there is no need to follow. The men decided to live on
their stored seed-corn until the rains had fallen, and then to take
work as servants till they could catch up with the lost year; but as
the grain-dealer was thinking of his well-filled crates of corn, and the
prices he would levy at the sale of it, Hathi's sharp tusks were picking
out the corner of his mud-house, and smashing open the big wicker chest,
leeped with cow-dung, where the precious stuff lay.

When that last loss was discovered, it was the Brahmin's turn to speak.
He had prayed to his own Gods without answer. It might be, he said,
that, unconsciously, the village had offended some one of the Gods of
the Jungle, for, beyond doubt, the Jungle was against them. So they sent
for the head-man of the nearest tribe of wandering Gonds--little, wise,
and very black hunters, living in the deep Jungle, whose fathers came of
the oldest race in India--the aboriginal owners of the land. They made
the Gond welcome with what they had, and he stood on one leg, his bow in
his hand, and two or three poisoned arrows stuck through his top-knot,
looking half afraid and half contemptuously at the anxious villagers
and their ruined fields. They wished to know whether his Gods--the Old
Gods--were angry with them and what sacrifices should be offered. The
Gond said nothing, but picked up a trail of the Karela, the vine that
bears the bitter wild gourd, and laced it to and fro across the temple
door in the face of the staring red Hindu image. Then he pushed with his
hand in the open air along the road to Khanhiwara, and went back to his
Jungle, and watched the Jungle People drifting through it. H