on the road, and, Gray Brother, the song need not be of the
sweetest. Go with them, Bagheera, and help make that song.
When night is shut down, meet me by the village--Gray Brother
knows the place."

"It is no light hunting to work for a Man-cub. When shall I
sleep?" said Bagheera, yawning, though his eyes showed that he
was delighted with the amusement. "Me to sing to naked men!
But let us try."

He lowered his head so that the sound would travel, and cried a
long, long, "Good hunting"--a midnight call in the afternoon,
which was quite awful enough to begin with. Mowgli heard it
rumble, and rise, and fall, and die off in a creepy sort of
whine behind him, and laughed to himself as he ran through the
Jungle. He could see the charcoal-burners huddled in a knot; old
Buldeo's gun-barrel waving, like a banana-leaf, to every point
of the compass at once. Then Gray Brother gave the Ya-la-hi!
Yalaha! call for the buck-driving, when the Pack drives the
nilghai, the big blue cow, before them, and it seemed to come
from the very ends of the earth, nearer, and nearer, and nearer,
till it ended in a shriek snapped off short. The other three
answered, till even Mowgli could have vowed that the full Pack
was in full cry, and then they all broke into the magnificent
Morning-song in the Jungle, with every turn, and flourish, and
grace-note that a deep-mouthed wolf of the Pack knows. This is a
rough rendering of the song, but you must imagine what it sounds
like when it breaks the afternoon hush of the Jungle:--

One moment past our bodies cast