“When I heard the woman cry I took my revolver out. When I saw the woman run I fired, and the bullet struck the veil.”
He put the revolver back into his pocket, and sat down again quietly.
“And that’s why they call me Fin Tireur.”
I said nothing, and sat staring at him.
“When the camels had been watered the caravan went on.”
“But—but the Arabs———”
“The Caïd had the body tied across a donkey—they told me.”
“You didn’t see?”
“No. I took the little one in. She was screaming, and I had to see to her. It was two days afterwards, when I was at the market, that a scorpion stung her. She was dead when I came back. Well, m’sieu, are you sorry you ate your supper?”
Before I could reply, the door opening into the courtyard gaped, and the driver entered, followed by a cloud of whirling sand grains.