Bagheera, who had eyes and ears everywhere, knew something of this, and once or twice he told Mowgli in so many words that Shere Khan would kill him some day.  Mowgli would laugh and answer:  “I have the Pack and I have thee; and Baloo, though he is so lazy, might strike a blow or two for my sake.  Why should I be afraid?”

It was one very warm day that a new notion came to Bagheera—­born of something that he had heard.  Perhaps Ikki the Porcupine had told him; but he said to Mowgli when they were deep in the jungle, as the boy lay with his head on Bagheera’s beautiful black skin, “Little Brother, how often have I told thee that Shere Khan is thy enemy?”

“As many times as there are nuts on that palm,” said Mowgli, who, naturally, could not count.  “What of it?  I am sleepy, Bagheera, and Shere Khan is all long tail and loud talk—­like Mao, the Peacock.”

“But this is no time for sleeping.  Baloo knows it; I know it; the Pack know it; and even the foolish, foolish deer know.  Tabaqui has told thee too.”

“Ho! ho!” said Mowgli.  “Tabaqui came to me not long ago with some rude talk that I was a naked man’s cub and not fit to dig pig-nuts.  But I caught Tabaqui by the tail and swung him twice against a palm-tree to teach him better manners.”

“That was foolishness, for though Tabaqui is a mischief-maker, he would have told thee of something that concerned thee closely.  Open those eyes, Little Brother.  Shere Khan dare not kill thee in the jungle.  But remember, Akela is very old, and soon the day comes when he cannot kill his buck, and then he will be leader no more.  Many of the wolves that looked thee over when thou wast brought to the Council first are old too, and the young wolves believe, as Shere Khan has taught them, that a man-cub has no place with the Pack.  In a little time thou wilt be a man.”

“And what is a man that he should not run with his brothers?” said Mowgli.  “I was born in the jungle.  I have obeyed the Law of the Jungle, and there is no wolf of ours from whose paws I have not pulled a thorn.  Surely they are my brothers!”

Bagheera stretched himself at full length and half shut his eyes.  “Little Brother,” said he, “feel under my jaw.”

Mowgli put up his strong brown hand, and just under Bagheera’s silky chin, where the giant rolling muscles were all hid by the glossy hair, he came upon a little bald spot.

“There is no one in the jungle that knows that I, Bagheera, carry that mark—­the mark of the collar; and yet, Little Brother, I was born among men, and it was among men that my mother died—­in the cages of the king’s palace at Oodeypore.  It was because of this that I paid the price for thee at the Council when thou wast a little naked cub.  Yes, I too was born among men.  I had never seen the jungle.  They fed me behind bars from an iron pan till one night I felt that I was Bagheera—­the Panther—­and no man’s plaything, and I broke the silly lock with one blow of my paw and came away.  And because I had learned the ways of men, I became more terrible in the jungle than Shere Khan.  Is it not so?”