Suddenly he saw striding past him, long-legged and proud as a turkey cock, a magnificent camel.  The sight quickened his pulse; where there were camels lions could not be far away, and indeed within five minutes he saw coming towards him with guns on their shoulders, a whole company of lion hunters with their dogs.

A cowardly lot, thought Tartarin, as he came alongside them... hunting lions in a group and with dogs... for it had never occurred to him that In Algeria one could hunt anything but lions.  However these hunters looked like comfortably retired businessmen, and Tartarin, curious about this way of hunting lions with dogs and game-bags, took it on himself to address one of them.

“Et autrement, my friend, a good day?”

“Not bad” Replied the other, looking with some surprise at the heavy armament of our Tarascon warrior.

“You have killed some of them?”

“Yes... a few... as you can see.”  And the Algerian pointed to his game-bag, bulging with rabbits and woodcock.

“How is that?... you put them in your game-bag?”

“Where would you like me to put them?”

“But then they... they must be very small!”

“Some big, some small.”  Said the hunter, and as he was in a hurry to catch up with his companions and go home, he made off at high speed.  Tartarin stood, stupefied, in the middle of the road.  Then after a moment of thought “Bah!” He said to himself, “These people are trying to have me on, they haven’t shot anything.”  And he continued on his way.

Already the houses were becoming more scattered, the passers-by less frequent.  Night was falling.  Objects becoming less distinct....  He marched on for another half an hour, and then he stopped.  It was now completely dark, a moonless night spangled with stars.  There was no one on the road, but in spite of that Tartarin reckoned that lions were not like coaches and would not stick to the highway.  He set off across country.  At every step there were ditches, thorns and bushes.  No matter, he walked on until at last he reached a spot he thought suited to his purpose.  A likely place for lions.

Chapter 16.

He was in a vast, wild desert, bristling with bizarre plants.  African plants, which have the appearance of savage animals.  In the faint light from the stars their shadows spread over the ground in all directions.  On the right was the confused, looming mass of a mountain, the Atlas perhaps, to the left could be heard the dull surge of the invisible sea.  An ideal spot to tempt wild animals!

Placing one rifle on the ground before him and taking the other in his hands, Tartarin settled down and waited... he waited for an hour... two hours....  Then he remembered that in his books the famous lion hunters always used a kid as bait, which they tethered at some distance in front of them and made to bleat by pulling on a string attached to its leg.  Lacking a kid, he had the idea of trying an imitation and began to bleat in a goat-like manner, “Me!...  Me!....”  At first very quietly, because, in the depths of his heart he was a little afraid that the lion might hear him... then seeing that nothing happened he bleated more loudly, “Me!...  Me!...  Me!....”  And then louder still, “Me!...  Me!...  Me!...”