Rama winded Shere Khan and bellowed.
“Ha! Ha!” said Mowgli, on his back. “Now thou knowest!” and the torrent of
black horns, foaming muzzles, and staring eyes whirled down the ravine just as
boulders go down in floodtime; the weaker buffaloes being shouldered out to the
sides of the ravine where they tore through the creepers. They knew what the
business was before them—the terrible charge of the buffalo herd against which
no tiger can hope to stand. Shere Khan heard the thunder of their hoofs, picked
himself up, and lumbered down the ravine, looking from side to side for some
way of escape, but the walls of the ravine were straight and he had to hold on,
heavy with his dinner and his drink, willing to do anything rather than fight. The
herd splashed through the pool he had just left, bellowing till the narrow cut
rang. Mowgli heard an answering bellow from the foot of the ravine, saw Shere
Khan turn (the tiger knew if the worst came to the worst it was better to meet the
bulls than the cows with their calves), and then Rama tripped, stumbled, and