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«Man!» he snapped. «A man’s cub. Look!»

Directly in front of him, holding on by a low branch, stood a naked brown baby who could just walk – as soft and as dimpled a little atom as ever came to a wolf’s cave at night. He looked up into Father Wolf’s face, and laughed.

«Is that a man’s cub?» said Mother Wolf. «I have never seen one. Bring it here».

A wolf accustomed to moving his own cubs can, if necessary, mouth an egg without breaking it, and though Father Wolf’s jaws closed right on the child’s back not a tooth even scratched the skin as he laid it down among the cubs.

«How little! How naked, and – how bold!» said Mother Wolf softly. The baby was pushing his way between the cubs to get close to the warm hide. «Ahai! He is taking his meal with the others. And so this is a man’s cub. Now, was there ever a wolf that could boast of a man’s cub among her children?»

«I have heard now and again of such a thing, but never in our Pack or in my time», said Father Wolf. «He is altogether without hair, and I could kill him with a touch of my foot. But see, he looks up and is not afraid».

The moonlight was blocked out of the mouth of the cave, for Shere Khan’s great square head and shoulders were thrust into the entrance. Tabaqui, behind him, was squeaking: «My lord, my lord, it went in here!»

«Shere Khan does us great honor», said Father Wolf, but his eyes were very angry. «What does Shere Khan need?»

«My quarry. A man’s cub went this way», said Shere Khan. «Its parents have run off. Give it to me».

Shere Khan had jumped at a woodcutter’s campfire, as Father Wolf had said, and was furious from the pain of his burned feet. But Father Wolf knew that the mouth of the cave was too narrow for a tiger to come in by. Even where he was, Shere Khan’s shoulders and forepaws were cramped for want of room, as a man’s would be if he tried to fight in a barrel.

«The Wolves are a free people», said Father Wolf. «They take orders from the Head of the Pack, and not from any striped cattle-killer. The man’s cub is ours – to kill if we choose».

«Ye choose and ye do not choose! What talk is this of choosing? By the bull that I killed, am I to stand nosing into your dog’s den for my fair dues? It is I, Shere Khan, who speak!»

The tiger’s roar filled the cave with thunder. Mother Wolf shook herself clear of the cubs and sprang forward, her eyes, like two green moons in the darkness, facing the blazing eyes of Shere Khan.

«And it is I, Raksha (The Demon), who answers. The man’s cub is mine, Lungri – mine to me! He shall not be killed. He shall live to run with the Pack and to hunt with the Pack; and in the end, look you, hunter of little naked cubs – frog-eater – fish-killer – he shall hunt thee! Now get hence, or by the Sambhur that I killed (I eat no starved cattle), back thou goest to thy mother, burned beast of the jungle, lamer than ever thou camest into the world! Go!»