She had shot the man--pouf! What of that?
She had shot men before, as all Africa knew.
She would defend a half-fledged bird, a terrified sheep, a worn-out old cur; but a man! Men were the normal and natural food for pistols and rifles, she considered.

A state of society in which firearms had been unknown was a thing Cigarette had never heard of, and in which she would have contumeliously disbelieved if she had been told of it.
Cecil looked up from his musing.

He thought what a pity it was this pretty, graceful French kitten was such a bloodthirsty young panther at heart.
"I scarcely know what to do," he answered her doubtfully.

"Put him across my saddle, poor wretch, I suppose; the fray must be reported." "Leave that to me," said Cigarette decidedly, and with a certain haughty patronage.

"I shot him--I will see the thing gets told right.