"Was there no evil with your own people?" queried Wolf. "Just feeding, and nothing else?"

"Well," answered Hathi, hesitatingly, "sometimes in a herd there grows up one who is a 'Rogue.' We had one such, I remember. But that also came about because of the Men-kind--a yellow man. It was a Hill-man, and when this Rogue of whom I speak--he also was a Bull--was just full grown, a matter of perhaps twenty years, this Hill-man thrust into his head, from a distance, too, being seated in a tree, an arrow.

"The arrow remaining there as it did, caused this Bull to become of an evil temper. Quarreling, quarreling always, b.u.t.ting his huge head into a comrade because of a mere nothing; and with his tusks putting his mark on many of us without cause; sometimes it would be a kick from his forefoot, or a slap of his trunk. When we were near to the places of the Men-kind he would wallow in the rice fields, and pull up the young plantain trees by the roots, even knock the queer little houses they lived in to pieces, for they were but of bamboo and leaves. Of course the dwellers ran for their lives, and sometimes brought fire, and made noise with their guns, and beat gongs to frighten him away.

"Many times we drove him forth from the herd; and sometimes he stayed away himself for days, sulky. In the end we lost him altogether, and we were all glad; but strange as it may appear, I saw him again in Rangoon in the timber yards. That was after I was caught."

"Tell us about that happening," pleaded Sa'-zada, "for it is even not written in The Book."

"I was taken in a manner full of deceit, and because I had faith in those of my own kind. I was, perhaps, fifteen or twenty years old at the time--but in a Hathi's life a year or two is of no moment, for we are long-lived--and what might be called second in charge of the herd, a condition of things which I resented somewhat, but the Herd Bull had been leader while I was growing up, so there was no just claim on my part really.

"And it happened in our wanderings that we came not far from the greatest of all the Men's places in that land, Ava (Mandalay). One day as I was pulling down the young bamboos and stripping the feathered top, a strange _Hathni_ (female elephant) came to me and put her trunk softly on my neck. She was all alone, and I felt sorry for her; besides, she was nice--showed me such lovely places for good feeding. I spent a whole day with her, and the next day, too, and as we went through the jungle, suddenly we came to a sort of immense, strong _hauda_. It wasn't a bit like the Men's _haudas_ that they live in, else I should never have been deceived; great trunks of trees growing up out of the ground straight, and close together, but no branches or leaves to them; as square on top as the end of my leg. This queer-looking jungle thing troubled me. 'What is it?' I asked Hathni.

"'It's my home,' she replied; 'come in, Comrade.'"

"And of course the woman had her way," remarked Sa'-zada; "you went into the parlor, Hathi, old chap, I suppose."

"Not by that name knew I it, Sa'-zada; they called it a Keddah, as I found out. But I went in."

"And was caged," laughed Black Chita.

"Inside," continued Hathi, "was a winding path, and Hathni trotted down this so fast that I lost her. A great wooden gate dropped behind me, and I knew that I was in a trap. It was a big place, but no openings to get out.

"Then the Men-kind showed their yellow faces all over the walls, just like _Hanumen_--the gray-whiskered Monkey of those parts.

"'A White Elephant at last, at last!' they cried; 'now will the King be pleased.'

"I was left alone that night, but the next day the Men-kind came with two ruffianly Bulls of my kind who bunted and bustled me about, and fought me, while the men slipped great strong ropes over my legs. In a week I was that tired and sore from this treatment that I was ready to go any place. Then I was taken to Ava; and such doings! I dislike to tell it all; it's hardly modest.

"They put a silk covering over me to keep the Flies off, and a garland of white jasmine flowers about my neck--sweet-smelling flowers they were; in my ears two big red stones of the ruby kind were placed; and always as I walked a great silk umbrella was over my head. And as for eating--humpf, humpf, humpf! they just made me ill with sweets to be eaten out of gold dishes."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "TWO RUFFIANLY BULLS ... FOUGHT ME WHILE THE MEN SLIPPED GREAT STRONG ROPES OVER MY LEGS."]

"Is this a true tale, O Sa'-zada?" queried Black Leopard. "For one of the jungle folk it is a strange happening."

"It is true," replied the Keeper; "that was the way with the White Elephant at the Burma King's court, it is written in another book I have read."

"And no one was allowed to ride on my back but the King," declared Hathi, "excepting, of course, the Mahout. As I walked I was afraid of stepping on some one; the Men-kind were forever flopping down on their knees to worship me. It was this way for years; then one season there came war; great guns spoke with a roar louder than Bagh's; and vast herds of the white-faced Men-kind came, letting free the blood of the yellow-faced ones; and in the end I was taken away, and sent down to Rangoon, and put to work in the timber yards. There was no worship, and few sweetmeats, and for silk covering I was given a harness with leather collar and chain traces. It was like being back in the jungle again--I was just a common Hathi, only I was called there Raj Singh.

"It was at that time I met the Bull who was a Rogue. He was also working in the timber yards, but it had done him much good--his temper was improved."

"Was it kind treatment cured him?" asked Sa'-zada.

"No," replied Hathi; "they whipped him into a gentle behavior. Two big Bulls with heavy iron chains swinging from their trunks thrashed him until he promised to cease making trouble. But one day he broke out bad, and smashed everything--tore the Master's dogcart to pieces, knocked the Cooly's _haudas_ down, and trumpeted like an evil jungle spirit. He even killed his Mahout, which was a silly thing, though he declared his driver, the Mahout, sitting up on his back, one foot on either side, had prodded viciously at his head until poor Rogue's blood was on fire.

"But in the end they sent me away to Sa'-zada, and I am quite content"; and reaching his big trunk over to the Keeper, Hathi caressed the latter's cheek lovingly.

"Oh, we are all content," declared Magh; "for Sa'-zada is a kind and gentle Master."

"Now, all to your cages and your pens," cried the Keeper, "for it is late. To-morrow night, perhaps, we shall have the tale of Gidar, the Jackal."

Third Night

The Stories of Gidar, the Jackal, and Coyote, the Prairie Wolf

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THIRD NIGHT

THE STORIES OF GIDAR, THE JACKAL, AND COYOTE, THE PRAIRIE WOLF

"To-night," commenced Sa'-zada, "we are to have the interesting life story of the two half-brothers, Gidar and Coyote."

"A thief's tale of a certainty," chuckled Magh.

"In my land, which was Burma, there were none so useful as we," began Gidar. "Not of high repute our mission, perhaps, but still useful, being scavengers; and to this end we are all born with a fair appet.i.te; but useful always, even Bagh knows that. I was Lieutenant to one of his kind--a great killer he was--for a matter of two years. Then he came by way of a dispute with the Men-kind, and they finished him in short order.

"Now, you know, Brothers, our kind have steadily worked southward from India, pushing into new lands from all time, even like the Sahibs, until we are now half down through Burma. It must be a dull land that has not our sweet song at night. If there were but a Pack here now we'd sing you a rare chorus."

"I've heard the song," quoth Bagh; "it's wretched."

"How goes it?" asked Wolf. "Our Pack has a cry of great strength; the 'bells of the forest,' the Redmen call it."

"It's somewhat this way," said Jackal, and sitting on his haunches he raised his long, sharp nozzle high in air, stretching his lean throat toward the moon that glinted fretfully through the swaying trees; and on the still, quiet night air floated his cry of far-off India:

"'_Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-o-o-o-o-o!

I smell a dead Hindoo-oo!_'

"That would be my cry, Brothers. Then from all quarters of the jungle the Pack would take up the song and sing back:

"'_Where, where, where, where, where, where?_'

"And I would answer back cheerily:

"'_Here, here, here, here, here, here!_'

"Then all together we would sing with all our lungs:

"'_Oo-oo-oo-o-o-o-o-h Mussulman or Hind-oo?