Generations of monkeys had been scared into good behavior by the stories their elders told them of Kaa, the night thief, who could slip along the branches as quietly as moss grows, and steal away the strongest monkey that ever lived; of old Kaa, who could make himself look so like a dead branch or a rotten stump that the wisest were deceived, till the branch caught them.  Kaa was everything that the monkeys feared in the jungle, for none of them knew the limits of his power, none of them could look him in the face, and none had ever come alive out of his hug.  And so they ran, stammering with terror, to the walls and the roofs of the houses, and Baloo drew a deep breath of relief.  His fur was much thicker than Bagheera’s, but he had suffered sorely in the fight.  Then Kaa opened his mouth for the first time and spoke one long hissing word, and the far-away monkeys, hurrying to the defense of the Cold Lairs, stayed where they were, cowering, till the loaded branches bent and crackled under them.  The monkeys on the walls and the empty houses stopped their cries, and in the stillness that fell upon the city Mowgli heard Bagheera shaking his wet sides as he came up from the tank.  Then the clamor broke out again.  The monkeys leaped higher up the walls.  They clung around the necks of the big stone idols and shrieked as they skipped along the battlements, while Mowgli, dancing in the summerhouse, put his eye to the screenwork and hooted owl-fashion between his front teeth, to show his derision and contempt.

“Get the man-cub out of that trap; I can do no more,” Bagheera gasped.  “Let us take the man-cub and go.  They may attack again.”

“They will not move till I order them.  Stay you sssso!” Kaa hissed, and the city was silent once more.  “I could not come before, Brother, but I think I heard thee call”—­this was to Bagheera.

“I—­I may have cried out in the battle,” Bagheera answered.  “Baloo, art thou hurt?

“I am not sure that they did not pull me into a hundred little bearlings,” said Baloo, gravely shaking one leg after the other.  “Wow!  I am sore.  Kaa, we owe thee, I think, our lives—­Bagheera and I.”

“No matter.  Where is the manling?”

“Here, in a trap.  I cannot climb out,” cried Mowgli.  The curve of the broken dome was above his head.

“Take him away.  He dances like Mao the Peacock.  He will crush our young,” said the cobras inside.

“Hah!” said Kaa with a chuckle, “he has friends everywhere, this manling.  Stand back, manling.  And hide you, O Poison People.  I break down the wall.”

Kaa looked carefully till he found a discolored crack in the marble tracery showing a weak spot, made two or three light taps with his head to get the distance, and then lifting up six feet of his body clear of the ground, sent home half a dozen full-power smashing blows, nose-first.  The screen-work broke and fell away in a cloud of dust and rubbish, and Mowgli leaped through the opening and flung himself between Baloo and Bagheera—­an arm around each big neck.