"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.