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came out with so much power that the goat began to be mistakable for a bull。
Unexpectedly； a few steps in front； some gigantic black thing appeared。 He was hushed。 This thing lowered its head； sniffed the ground； hounded up； rolled over； and darted off at the gallop； but returned and stopped short。 Who could doubt it was the lion？ for now its four short legs could plainly be seen； its formidable mane and its large eyes gleaming in the gloom。
Up went his gun into position。 Fire's the word！ and bang； bang！ it was done。 And immediately there was a leap back and the drawing of the hunting…knife。 To the Tarasconian's shot a terrible roaring replied。
〃He's got it！〃 cried our good Tartarin as； steadying himself on his sturdy supporters； he prepared to receive the brute's charge。
But it had more than its fill； and galloped off； howling。 He did not budge； for he expected to see the female mate appear； as the story… books always lay it down she should。
Unhappily； no female came。 After two or three hours' waiting the Tarasconian grew tired。 The ground was damp； the night was getting cool； and the sea…breeze pricked sharply。
〃I have a good mind to take a nap till daylight；〃 he said to himself。
To avoid catching rheumatism； he had recourse to his patent tent。 But here's where Old Nick interfered！ This tent was of so very ingenious a construction that he could not manage to open it。 In vain did he toil over it and perspire an hour through the confounded apparatus would not come unfolded。 There are some umbrellas which amuse themselves under torrential rains with just such tricks upon you。 Fairly tired out with the struggle； the victim dashed down the machine and lay upon it； swearing like the regular Southron he was。 〃Tar； tar； rar； tar！ tar； rar； tar！〃
〃What on earth's that？〃 wondered Tartarin； suddenly aroused。
It was the bugles of the Chasseurs d'Afrique sounding the turn…out in the Mustapha barracks。 The stupefied lion…slayer rubbed his eyes； for he had believed himself out in the boundless wilderness； and do you know where he really was？ in a field of artichokes； between a cabbage…garden and a patch of beets。 His Sahara grew kitchen vegetables。
Close to him； on the pretty verdant slope of Upper Mustapha； the snowy villas glowed in the rosy rising sun： anybody would believe himself in the neighbourhood of Marseilles； amongst its bastides and bastidons。
The commonplace and kitchen…gardenish aspect of this sleep…steeped country much astonished the poor man； and put him in bad humour。
〃These folk are crazy；〃 he reasoned； 〃to plant artichokes in the prowling…ground of lions； for； in short； I have not been dreaming。 Lions have come here； and there's the proof〃
What he called the proof was blood…spots left behind the beast in its flight。 Bending over this ruddy trail。 with his eye on the lookout and his revolver in his fist； the valiant Tarasconian went from artichoke to artichoke up to a little field of oats。 In the trampled grass was a pool of blood； and in the midst of the pool； lying on its flank； with a large wound in the head； was a guess what？
〃A lion； of course ！〃
Not a bit of it！ An ass！ one of those little donkeys so common in Algeria； where they are called bourriquots。
VI。 Arrival of the Female A Terrible Combat 〃Game Fellows Meet Here！〃
LOOKING on his hapless victim； Tartarin's first impulse was one of vexation。 There is such a wide gap between a lion and poor Jack！ His second feeling was one of pity。 The poor bourriquot was so pretty and looked so kindly。 The hide on his still warm sides heaved and fell like waves。 Tartarin knelt down； and strove with the end of his Algerian sash to stanch the blood； and all you can imagine in the way of touchingness was offered by the picture of this great man tending this little ass。
At the touch of the silky cloth the donkey； who had not twopennyworth of life in him； opened his large grey eye and winked his long ears two or three times； as much as to say； 〃Oh； thank you！〃 before a final spasm shook it from head to tail； whereafter it stirred no more。
〃Noiraud！ Blackey！〃 suddenly screamed a voice； choking with anguish； as the branches in a thicket hard by moved at the same time。
Tartarin had no more than enough time to rise and stand upon guard。 This was the female！
She rushed up； fearsome and roaring； under form of an old Alsatian woman； her hair in a kerchief； armed with large red umbrella； and calling for her ass； till all the echoes of Mustapha rang。 It certainly would have been better for Tartarin to have had to deal with a lioness in fury than this old virago。 In vain did the luckless sportsman try to make her understand how the blunder had occurred； and he had mistaken 〃Noiraud〃 for a lion。 The harridan believed he was making fun of her； and uttering energetical 〃Der Teufels！〃 fell upon our hero to bang him with the gingham。 A little bewildered； Tartarin defended himself as best he could； warding off the blows with his rifle； streaming with perspiration； panting； jumping about； and crying out：
〃But； Madame； but〃
Much good his buts were！ Madame was dull of hearing； and her blows continued hard as ever。
Fortunately a third party arrived on the battlefield； the Alsatian's husband； of the same race； a roadside innkeeper； as well as a very good ready…reckoner； which was better。 When he saw what kind of a customer he had to deal with a slaughterer who only wanted to pay the value of his victim he disarmed his better…half； and they came to an understanding。
Tartarin gave two hundred francs； the donkey being worth about ten at least that is the current price in the Arab markets。 Then poor Blackey was； laid to rest at the root of a fig…tree； and the Alsatian； raised to joviality by the colour of the Tarascon ducats； invited the hero to have a quencher with him in his wine…shop； which stood only a few steps off on the edge of the highway。 Every Sunday the sportsmen from the city came there to regale of a morning； for the plain abounded with game； and there was no better place for rabbits for two leagues around。
〃How about lions？〃 inquired Tartarin。
The Alsatian stared at him； greatly astounded。
〃Lions！〃
〃Yes； lions。 Don't you see them sometimes？〃 resumed the poor fellow； with less confidence。
The Boniface burst out in laughter。
〃Ho； ho！ bless us！ lions！ What would we do with lions here ？〃
〃Are there； then； none in Algeria？〃
〃'Pon my faith； I never saw any； albeit I have been twenty years； in the colony。 Still； I believe I have heard tell of such a thing leastwise； I fancy the newspapers said but that is ever so much farther inland down South； you know〃
At this point they reached the hostelry； a suburban pothouse； with a withered green bough over the door； crossed billiard…cues painted on the wall； and this harmless sign over a picture of wild rabbits； feeding：
〃GAME FELLOWS MEET HERE。〃
〃Game fellows！〃 It made Tartarin think of Captain Bravida。
VII。 About an Omnibus； a Moorish Beauty； and a Wreath of Jessamine。
COMMON people would have been discouraged by such a first adventure； but men of Tartarin's mettle do not easily get cast down。
〃The lion