The Little People had gone to sleep in the early twilight, for it was not the season of late blossoming flowers; but as Mowgli’s first foot-falls rang hollow on the hollow ground he heard a sound as though all the earth were humming. Then he ran as he had never run in his life before, spurned aside one--two--three of the piles of stones into the dark, sweet-smelling gullies; heard a roar like the roar of the sea in a cave; saw with the tail of his eye the air grow dark behind him; saw the current of the Waingunga far below, and a flat, diamond-shaped head in the water; leaped outward with all his strength, the tailless dhole snapping at his shoulder in mid-air, and dropped feet first to the safety of the river, breathless and triumphant. There was not a sting upon him, for the smell of the garlic had checked the Little People for just the few seconds that he was among them. When he rose Kaa’s coils were steadying him and things were bounding over the edge of the cliff--great lumps, it seemed, of clustered bees falling like plummets; but before any lump touched water the bees flew upward and the body of a dhole whirled down-stream. Overhead they could hear furious short yells that were drowned in a roar like breakers--the roar of the wings of the Little People of the Rocks. Some of the dholes, too, had fallen into the gullies that communicated with the underground caves, and there choked and fought and snapped among the tumbled honeycombs, and at last, borne up, even when they were dead, on the heaving waves of bees beneath them, shot out of some hole in the river-face, to roll over on the black rubbish-heaps. There were dholes who had leaped short into the trees on the cliffs, and the bees blotted out their shapes; but the greater number of them, maddened by the stings, had flung themselves into the river; and, as Kaa said, the Waingunga was hungry water. Kaa held Mowgli fast till the boy had recovered his breath. “We may not stay here,” he said. “The Little People are roused indeed. Come!” Swimming low and diving as often as he could, Mowgli went down the river, knife in hand. “Slowly, slowly,” said Kaa. “One tooth does not kill a hundred unless it be a cobra’s, and many of the dholes took water swiftly when they saw the Little People rise.” “The more work for my knife, then. Phai! How the Little People follow!” Mowgli sank again. The face of the water was blanketed with wild bees, buzzing sullenly and stinging all they found. “Nothing was ever yet lost by silence,” said Kaa--no sting could penetrate his scales--“and thou hast all the long night for the hunting. Hear them howl!”