"How goes it?" asked Wolf. "Our Pack has a cry of great strength; the 'bells of the forest,' the Redmen call it."
"It's somewhat this way," said Jackal, and sitting on his haunches he raised his long, sharp nozzle high in air, stretching his lean throat toward the moon that glinted fretfully through the swaying trees; and on the still, quiet night air floated his cry of far-off India:
"'Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-o-o-o-o-o!
I smell a dead Hindoo-oo!'
"That would be my cry, Brothers. Then from all quarters of the jungle the Pack would take up the song and sing back:
"'Where, where, where, where, where, where?'
"And I would answer back cheerily:
"'Here, here, here, here, here, here!'
"Then all together we would sing with all our lungs:
"'Oo-oo-oo-o-o-o-o-h
Mussulman or Hind-oo?
Here, there, or anywhere,
All flesh is flesh, we do not care.'"
"A charming song," sneered Magh.