Yet Hathi and the Striped One together turn aside for the dhole , and the dhole they say turn aside for nothing . And yet for whom do the Little People of the Rocks turn aside ? Tell me , Master of the Jungle , who is the Master of the Jungle ? '' `` These , '' Mowgli whispered . `` It is the Place of Death . Let us go . '' `` Nay , look well , for they are asleep . It is as it was when I was not the length of thy arm . '' The split and weatherworn rocks of the gorge of the Waingunga had been used since the beginning of the Jungle by the Little People of the Rocks -- the busy , furious , black wild bees of India ; and , as Mowgli knew well , all trails turned off half a mile before they reached the gorge . For centuries the Little People had hived and swarmed from cleft to cleft , and swarmed again , staining the white marble with stale honey , and made their combs tall and deep in the dark of the inner caves , where neither man nor beast nor fire nor water had ever touched them . The length of the gorge on both siaes was hung as it were with black shimmery velvet curtains , and Mowgli sank as he looked , for those were the clotted millions of the sleeping bees . There were other lumps and festoons and things like decayed tree-trunks studded on the face of the rock , the old combs of past years , or new cities built in the shadow of the windless gorge , and huge masses of spongy , rotten trash had rolled down and stuck among the trees and creepers that clung to the rock-face . As he listened he heard more than once the rustle and slide of a honey-loaded comb turning over or failing away somewhere in the dark galleries ; then a booming of angry wings , and the sullen drip , drip , drip , of the wasted honey , guttering along till it lipped over some ledge in the open air and sluggishly trickled down on the twigs . There was a tiny little beach , not five feet broad , on one side of the river , and that was piled high with the rubbish of uncounted years . There were dead bees , drones , sweepings , and stale combs , and wings of marauding moths that had strayed in after honey , all tumbled in smooth piles of the finest black dust . The mere sharp smell of it was enough to frighten anything that had no wings , and knew what the Little People were . Kaa moved up-stream again till he came to a sandy bar at the head of the gorge . `` Here is this season 's kill , '' said he . `` Look ! '' On the bank lay the skeletons of a couple of young deer and a buffalo .
XXXXX could see that neither wolf nor jackal had touched the hones , which were laid out naturally .
Hathi Mowgli Striped centuries dhole festoons fire rock-face siaes years