"At such a season as this to kill Man! Was no other game
afoot?" said Bagheera scornfully, drawing himself out of the
tainted water, and shaking each paw, cat-fashion, as he did so.

"I killed for choice--not for food." The horrified whisper
began again, and Hathi's watchful little white eye cocked
itself in Shere Khan's direction. "For choice," Shere Khan
drawled. "Now come I to drink and make me clean again. Is
there any to forbid?"

Bagheera's back began to curve like a bamboo in a high wind,
but Hathi lifted up his trunk and spoke quietly.

"Thy kill was from choice?" he asked; and when Hathi asks a
question it is best to answer.

"Even so. It was my right and my Night. Thou knowest, O Hathi."
Shere Khan spoke almost courteously.

"Yes, I know," Hathi answered; and, after a little silence,
"Hast thou drunk thy fill?"

"For to-night, yes."

"Go, then. The river is to drink, and not to defile. None but
the Lame Tiger would so have boasted of his right at this
season when--when we suffer together--Man and Jungle People
alike." Clean or unclean, get to thy lair, Shere Khan!"