“What is this folly?” said Buldeo, angrily. “To think that thou canst skin a tiger! Where did the buffaloes kill him? It is the Lame Tiger, too, and there is a hundred rupees on his head. Well, well, we will overlook thy letting the herd run off, and perhaps I will give thee one of the rupees of the reward when I have taken the skin to Khanhiwara.” He fumbled in his waistcloth for flint and steel, and stooped down to singe Shere Khan’s whiskers. Most native hunters singe a tiger’s whiskers to prevent his ghost haunting them.

“Hum!” said Mowgli, half to himself as he ripped back the skin of a fore paw. “So thou wilt take the hide to Khanhiwara for the reward, and perhaps give me one rupee? Now it is in my mind that I need the skin for my own use. Heh! old man, take away that fire!”