“What is it, Son?” she said.

“Some bat’s chatter of Shere Khan,” he called back.  “I hunt among the plowed fields tonight,” and he plunged downward through the bushes, to the stream at the bottom of the valley.  There he checked, for he heard the yell of the Pack hunting, heard the bellow of a hunted Sambhur, and the snort as the buck turned at bay.  Then there were wicked, bitter howls from the young wolves:  “Akela!  Akela!  Let the Lone Wolf show his strength.  Room for the leader of the Pack!  Spring, Akela!”

The Lone Wolf must have sprung and missed his hold, for Mowgli heard the snap of his teeth and then a yelp as the Sambhur knocked him over with his forefoot.

He did not wait for anything more, but dashed on; and the yells grew fainter behind him as he ran into the croplands where the villagers lived.

“Bagheera spoke truth,” he panted, as he nestled down in some cattle fodder by the window of a hut.  “To-morrow is one day both for Akela and for me.”

Then he pressed his face close to the window and watched the fire on the hearth.  He saw the husbandman’s wife get up and feed it in the night with black lumps.  And when the morning came and the mists were all white and cold, he saw the man’s child pick up a wicker pot plastered inside with earth, fill it with lumps of red-hot charcoal, put it under his blanket, and go out to tend the cows in the byre.

“Is that all?” said Mowgli.  “If a cub can do it, there is nothing to fear.”  So he strode round the corner and met the boy, took the pot from his hand, and disappeared into the mist while the boy howled with fear.

“They are very like me,” said Mowgli, blowing into the pot as he had seen the woman do.  “This thing will die if I do not give it things to eat”; and he dropped twigs and dried bark on the red stuff.  Halfway up the hill he met Bagheera with the morning dew shining like moonstones on his coat.

“Akela has missed,” said the Panther.  “They would have killed him last night, but they needed thee also.  They were looking for thee on the hill.”

“I was among the plowed lands.  I am ready.  See!” Mowgli held up the fire-pot.

“Good!  Now, I have seen men thrust a dry branch into that stuff, and presently the Red Flower blossomed at the end of it.  Art thou not afraid?”

“No.  Why should I fear?  I remember now—­if it is not a dream—­how, before I was a Wolf, I lay beside the Red Flower, and it was warm and pleasant.”

All that day Mowgli sat in the cave tending his fire pot and dipping dry branches into it to see how they looked.  He found a branch that satisfied him, and in the evening when Tabaqui came to the cave and told him rudely enough that he was wanted at the Council Rock, he laughed till Tabaqui ran away.  Then Mowgli went to the Council, still laughing.

Akela the Lone Wolf lay by the side of his rock as a sign that the leadership of the Pack was open, and Shere Khan with his following of scrap-fed wolves walked to and fro openly being flattered.  Bagheera lay close to Mowgli, and the fire pot was between Mowgli’s knees.  When they were all gathered together, Shere Khan began to speak—­a thing he would never have dared to do when Akela was in his prime.