‘It is does! Shere Khan is dead! He died the death of a dog, not a fighting tiger.’
Mowgli took his knife and started to cut the coat from Shere Khan’s body. It was hard work. After an hour Mowgli was still working when suddenly he felt a hand on his back. It was Buldeo, the village hunter.
‘Go and look after your buffaloes,’ he cried angrily.
‘I will take this tiger’s coat. I can sell it for a hundred rupees, and you can have one rupee for yourself.’
‘No,’ said Mowgli. ‘I need this coat.’
‘Listen, boy!’ Shouted Buldeo. ‘I am the village hunter, and I will take the coat, and keep all the money.’