He armed himself hastily, strapped onto his back the bivouac tent, the pole of which stuck up above his head, and then, held rigid by this contraption, he went down to the street. He turned sharply to the right and walked to the end of the shopping arcade of Bab-Azoum, where a series of Algerian store-keepers watched him pass, concealed in corners of their dark boutiques like spiders. He went through the Place du théatre, through the suburbs and eventually reached the dusty main road to Mustapha. Here was a fantastic confusion of traffic. There were coaches, cabs, curricles, military supply wagons, great carts of hay drawn by oxen, some squadrons of Chasseurs d’Afrique, troops of microscopic little donkeys, negresses selling galettes, loads of emigrants from Alsasce, some Spahis in red cloaks. All passing in a great cloud of dust, with cries, songs and trumpet calls, between two rows of miserable shacks, where could be seen prostitutes applying their make-up at their doors, tap-rooms full of soldiers and the stalls of butchers and slaughtermen. The tales I have been told about this place are quite untrue, thought Tartarin, there are fewer “Teurs” here than there are in Marseille. 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.