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 honour,' 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 woodcutters' camp-fire, 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 fore paws
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-dealer.
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.