The monkey became indignant, saying, "It is just like your mean, suspicious nature to speak so to a friend who, out of pure good nature, is willing to do you a turn. What motive can I have save generosity?—no good can accrue to me personally."
The tiger grunted an unwilling assent, and began to think seriously of accepting the offer.
"Well," he said at last, "if you will consent to be tied to my tail, and to go in first to the den, my back being to you, and face the dog, I am willing."
"Agreed," answered the monkey, who was an interfering little creature, and was longing to have his finger in the pie.
So they went, the monkey tied to his friend's tail, chattering all the way.
"Now," said the tiger, who was sullen and afraid as they came in sight of his lair, "if you don't behave fairly to me I will murder you, that's all."
"Never fear; I won't give you the opportunity of carrying out your amiable intention, because I shall act only as your true friend," replied the monkey.
Then he pushed aside the thick-growing foliage and entered into the cave, the tiger keeping as far away as possible, his hind-legs inside and the rest of him out. The dogs were lying down, but roused themselves on seeing their visitor.
"Well, monkey," shouted one, "so you have come at last, but that," looking behind him, "is a very lean tiger that you have brought. Why do you do so when you know that we like them so sleek and fat, and——" but the monkey heard no more. He was gone—jerked violently away by the tiger, who, suspecting his fidelity all along, was convinced of his perfidy by the words of the dog's greeting.
Away, away he sped, without turning back, over hill and dale, bump, bump, bang, bang, went the poor monkey's body, while he vainly protested his innocence in breathless, terrified shrieks. At last death came and ended his pain.