The Most Dangerous Game

"OFF THERE tothe right--somewhere--is a large island," said Whitney."It's rather a mystery--" "What island is it?"Rainsford asked. A few comments from the students at MonmouthHigh School 9th grade class under the direction of S VanArsdale."The old charts call it `Ship-Trap Island,"' Whitneyreplied." A suggestive name, isn't it? Sailors have acurious dread of the place. I don't know why. Some superstition--""Can't see it," remarked Rainsford, trying to peerthrough the dank tropical night that was palpable as it pressedits thick warm blackness in upon the yacht. "You've goodeyes," said Whitney, with a laugh," and I've seen youpick off a moose moving in the brown fall bush at four hundredyards, but even you can't see four miles or so through a moonlessCaribbean night." "Nor four yards," admittedRainsford. "Ugh! It's like moist black velvet." "Itwill be light enough in Rio," promised Whitney. "Weshould make it in a few days. I hope the jaguar guns have comefrom Purdey's. We should have some good hunting up the Amazon.Great sport, hunting." "The best sport in the world,"agreed Rainsford. "For the hunter," amended Whitney."Not for the jaguar." "Don't talk rot, Whitney,"said Rainsford. "You're a big-game hunter, not a philosopher.Who cares how a jaguar feels?" "Perhaps the jaguardoes," observed Whitney. "Bah! They've no understanding.""Even so, I rather think they understand one thing--fear.The fear of pain and the fear of death." "Nonsense,"laughed Rainsford. "This hot weather is making you soft,Whitney. Be a realist. The world is made up of two classes--thehunters and the huntees. Luckily, you and I are hunters. Do youthink we've passed that island yet?" "I can't tell inthe dark. I hope so." "Why? " asked Rainsford."The place has a reputation--a bad one." "Cannibals?"suggested Rainsford. "Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn't livein such a God-forsaken place. But it's gotten into sailor lore,somehow. Didn't you notice that the crew's nerves seemed a bitjumpy today?" "They were a bit strange, now you mentionit. Even Captain Nielsen--" "Yes, even that tough-mindedold Swede, who'd go up to the devil himself and ask him for alight. Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never saw there before.All I could get out of him was `This place has an evil name amongseafaring men, sir.' Then he said to me, very gravely, `Don't youfeel anything?'--as if the air about us was actually poisonous.Now, you mustn't laugh when I tell you this--I did feel somethinglike a sudden chill. "There was no breeze. The sea was asflat as a plate-glass window. We were drawing near the islandthen. What I felt was a--a mental chill; a sort of sudden dread.""Pure imagination," said Rainsford. "Onesuperstitious sailor can taint the whole ship's company with hisfear." "Maybe. But sometimes I think sailors have anextra sense that tells them when they are in danger. Sometimes Ithink evil is a tangible thing--with wave lengths, just as soundand light have. An evil place can, so to speak, broadcastvibrations of evil. Anyhow, I'm glad we're getting out of thiszone. Well, I think I'll turn in now, Rainsford." "I'mnot sleepy," said Rainsford. "I'm going to smokeanother pipe up on the afterdeck." "Good night, then,Rainsford. See you at breakfast." "Right. Good night,Whitney." There was no sound in the night as Rainsford satthere but the muffled throb of the engine that drove the yachtswiftly through the darkness, and the swish and ripple of thewash of the propeller. Rainsford, reclining in a steamer chair,indolently puffed on his favorite brier. The sensuous drowsinessof the night was on him." It's so dark," he thought,"that I could sleep without closing my eyes; the night wouldbe my eyelids--" An abrupt sound startled him. Off to theright he heard it, and his ears, expert in such matters, couldnot be mistaken. Again he heard the sound, and again. Somewhere,off in the blackness, someone had fired a gun three times.Rainsford sprang up and moved quickly to the rail, mystified. Hestrained his eyes in the direction from which the reports hadcome, but it was like trying to see through a blanket. He leapedupon the rail and balanced himself there, to get greaterelevation; his pipe, striking a rope, was knocked from his mouth.He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as herealized he had reached too far and had lost his balance. The crywas pinched off short as the blood-warm waters of the CaribbeanSea dosed over his head. He struggled up to the surface and triedto cry out, but the wash from the speeding yacht slapped him inthe face and the salt water in his open mouth made him gag andstrangle. Desperately he struck out with strong strokes after thereceding lights of the yacht, but he stopped before he had swumfifty feet. A certain coolheadedness had come to him; it was notthe first time he had been in a tight place. There was a chancethat his cries could be heard by someone aboard the yacht, butthat chance was slender and grew more slender as the yacht racedon. He wrestled himself out of his clothes and shouted with allhis power. The lights of the yacht became faint and ever-vanishingfireflies; then they were blotted out entirely by the night.Rainsford remembered the shots. They had come from the right, anddoggedly he swam in that direction, swimming with slow,deliberate strokes, conserving his strength. For a seeminglyendless time he fought the sea. He began to count his strokes; hecould do possibly a hundred more and then-- Rainsford heard asound. It came out of the darkness, a high screaming sound, thesound of an animal in an extremity of anguish and terror. He didnot recognize the animal that made the sound; he did not try to;with fresh vitality he swam toward the sound. He heard it again;then it was cut short by another noise, crisp, staccato. "Pistolshot," muttered Rainsford, swimming on. Ten minutes ofdetermined effort brought another sound to his ears--the mostwelcome he had ever heard--the muttering and growling of the seabreaking on a rocky shore. He was almost on the rocks before hesaw them; on a night less calm he would have been shatteredagainst them. With his remaining strength he dragged himself fromthe swirling waters. Jagged crags appeared to jut up into theopaqueness; he forced himself upward, hand over hand. Gasping,his hands raw, he reached a flat place at the top. Dense junglecame down to the very edge of the cliffs. What perils that tangleof trees and underbrush might hold for him did not concernRainsford just then. All he knew was that he was safe from hisenemy, the sea, and that utter weariness was on him. He flunghimself down at the jungle edge and tumbled headlong into thedeepest sleep of his life. When he opened his eyes he knew fromthe position of the sun that it was late in the afternoon. Sleephad given him new vigor; a sharp hunger was picking at him. Helooked about him, almost cheerfully. "Where there are pistolshots, there are men. Where there are men, there is food,"he thought. But what kind of men, he wondered, in so forbidding aplace? An unbroken front of snarled and ragged jungle fringed theshore. He saw no sign of a trail through the closely knit web ofweeds and trees; it was easier to go along the shore, andRainsford floundered along by the water. Not far from where helanded, he stopped. Some wounded thing--by the evidence, a largeanimal--had thrashed about in the underbrush; the jungle weedswere crushed down and the moss was lacerated; one patch of weedswas stained crimson. A small, glittering object not far awaycaught Rainsford's eye and he picked it up. It was an emptycartridge. "A twenty-two," he remarked. "That'sodd. It must have been a fairly large animal too. The hunter hadhis nerve with him to tackle it with a light gun. It's clear thatthe brute put up a fight. I suppose the first three shots I heardwas when the hunter flushed his quarry and wounded it. The lastshot was when he trailed it here and finished it." Heexamined the ground closely and found what he had hoped to find--theprint of hunting boots. They pointed along the cliff in thedirection he had been going. Eagerly he hurried along, nowslipping on a rotten log or a loose stone, but making headway;night was beginning to settle down on the island. Bleak darknesswas blacking out the sea and jungle when Rainsford sighted thelights. He came upon them as he turned a crook in the coast line;and his first thought was that be had come upon a village, forthere were many lights. But as he forged along he saw to hisgreat astonishment that all the lights were in one enormousbuilding--a lofty structure with pointed towers plunging upwardinto the gloom. His eyes made out the shadowy outlines of apalatial chateau; it was set on a high bluff, and on three sidesof it cliffs dived down to where the sea licked greedy lips inthe shadows. "Mirage," thought Rainsford. But it was nomirage, he found, when he opened the tall spiked iron gate. Thestone steps were real enough; the massive door with a leeringgargoyle for a knocker was real enough; yet above it all hung anair of unreality. He lifted the knocker, and it creaked upstiffly, as if it had never before been used. He let it fall, andit startled him with its booming loudness. He thought he heardsteps within; the door remained closed. Again Rainsford liftedthe heavy knocker, and let it fall. The door opened then--openedas suddenly as if it were on a spring--and Rainsford stoodblinking in the river of glaring gold light that poured out. Thefirst thing Rainsford's eyes discerned was the largest manRainsford had ever seen--a gigantic creature, solidly made andblack bearded to the waist. In his hand the man held a long-barreledrevolver, and he was pointing it straight at Rainsford's heart.Out of the snarl of beard two small eyes regarded Rainsford."Don't be alarmed," said Rainsford, with a smile whichhe hoped was disarming. "I'm no robber. I fell off a yacht.My name is Sanger Rainsford of New York City." The menacinglook in the eyes did not change. The revolver pointing as rigidlyas if the giant were a statue. He gave no sign that he understoodRainsford's words, or that he had even heard them. He was dressedin uniform--a black uniform trimmed with gray astrakhan. "I'mSanger Rainsford of New York," Rainsford began again. "Ifell off a yacht. I am hungry." The man's only answer was toraise with his thumb the hammer of his revolver. Then Rainsfordsaw the man's free hand go to his forehead in a military salute,and he saw him click his heels together and stand at attention.Another man was coming down the broad marble steps, an erect,slender man in evening clothes. He advanced to Rainsford and heldout his hand. In a cultivated voice marked by a slight accentthat gave it added precision and deliberateness, he said, "Itis a very great pleasure and honor to welcome Mr. SangerRainsford, the celebrated hunter, to my home." AutomaticallyRainsford shook the man's hand. "I've read your book abouthunting snow leopards in Tibet, you see," explained the man."I am General Zaroff." Rainsford's first impression wasthat the man was singularly handsome; his second was that therewas an original, almost bizarre quality about the general's face.He was a tall man past middle age, for his hair was a vividwhite; but his thick eyebrows and pointed military mustache wereas black as the night from which Rainsford had come. His eyes,too, were black and very bright. He had high cheekbones, asharpcut nose, a spare, dark face--the face of a man used togiving orders, the face of an aristocrat. Turning to the giant inuniform, the general made a sign. The giant put away his pistol,saluted, withdrew. "Ivan is an incredibly strong fellow,"remarked the general, "but he has the misfortune to be deafand dumb. A simple fellow, but, I'm afraid, like all his race, abit of a savage." "Is he Russian?" "He is aCossack," said the general, and his smile showed red lipsand pointed teeth. "So am I." "Come," hesaid, "we shouldn't be chatting here. We can talk later. Nowyou want clothes, food, rest. You shall have them. This is a most-restfulspot." Ivan had reappeared, and the general spoke to himwith lips that moved but gave forth no sound. "Follow Ivan,if you please, Mr. Rainsford," said the general. "I wasabout to have my dinner when you came. I'll wait for you. You'llfind that my clothes will fit you, I think." It was to ahuge, beam-ceilinged bedroom with a canopied bed big enough forsix men that Rainsford followed the silent giant. Ivan laid outan evening suit, and Rainsford, as he put it on, noticed that itcame from a London tailor who ordinarily cut and sewed for nonebelow the rank of duke. The dining room to which Ivan conductedhim was in many ways remarkable. There was a medievalmagnificence about it; it suggested a baronial hall of feudaltimes with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its vast refectorytables where twoscore men could sit down to eat. About the hallwere mounted heads of many animals--lions, tigers, elephants,moose, bears; larger or more perfect specimens Rainsford hadnever seen. At the great table the general was sitting, alone."You'll have a cocktail, Mr. Rainsford," he suggested.The cocktail was surpassingly good; and, Rainsford noted, thetable apointments were of the finest--the linen, the crystal, thesilver, the china. They were eating borsch, the rich, red soupwith whipped cream so dear to Russian palates. Halfapologetically General Zaroff said, "We do our best topreserve the amenities of civilization here. Please forgive anylapses. We are well off the beaten track, you know. Do you thinkthe champagne has suffered from its long ocean trip?" "Notin the least," declared Rainsford. He was finding thegeneral a most thoughtful and affable host, a true cosmopolite.But there was one small trait of .the general's that madeRainsford uncomfortable. Whenever he looked up from his plate hefound the general studying him, appraising him narrowly. "Perhaps,"said General Zaroff, "you were surprised that I recognizedyour name. You see, I read all books on hunting published inEnglish, French, and Russian. I have but one passion in my life,Mr. Rains. ford, and it is the hunt." "You have somewonderful heads here," said Rainsford as he ate aparticularly well-cooked filet mignon. " That Cape buffalois the largest I ever saw." "Oh, that fellow. Yes, hewas a monster." "Did he charge you?" "Hurledme against a tree," said the general. "Fractured myskull. But I got the brute." "I've always thought,"said Rains{ord, "that the Cape buffalo is the most dangerousof all big game." For a moment the general did not reply; hewas smiling his curious red-lipped smile. Then he said slowly,"No. You are wrong, sir. The Cape buffalo is not the mostdangerous big game." He sipped his wine. "Here in mypreserve on this island," he said in the same slow tone,"I hunt more dangerous game." Rainsford expressed hissurprise. "Is there big game on this island?" Thegeneral nodded. "The biggest." "Really?""Oh, it isn't here naturally, of course. I have to stock theisland." "What have you imported, general?"Rainsford asked. "Tigers?" The general smiled. "No,"he said. "Hunting tigers ceased to interest me some yearsago. I exhausted their possibilities, you see. No thrill left intigers, no real danger. I live for danger, Mr. Rainsford."The general took from his pocket a gold cigarette case andoffered his guest a long black cigarette with a silver tip; itwas perfumed and gave off a smell like incense. "We willhave some capital hunting, you and I," said the general."I shall be most glad to have your society." "Butwhat game--" began Rainsford. "I'll tell you,"said the general. "You will be amused, I know. I think I maysay, in all modesty, that I have done a rare thing. I haveinvented a new sensation. May I pour you another glass of port?""Thank you, general." The general filled both glasses,and said, "God makes some men poets. Some He makes kings,some beggars. Me He made a hunter. My hand was made for thetrigger, my father said. He was a very rich man with a quarter ofa million acres in the Crimea, and he was an ardent sportsman.When I was only five years old he gave me a little gun, speciallymade in Moscow for me, to shoot sparrows with. When I shot someof his prize turkeys with it, he did not punish me; hecomplimented me on my marksmanship. I killed my first bear in theCaucasus when I was ten. My whole life has been one prolongedhunt. I went into the army--it was expected of noblemen's sons--andfor a time commanded a division of Cossack cavalry, but my realinterest was always the hunt. I have hunted every kind of game inevery land. It would be impossible for me to tell you how manyanimals I have killed." The general puffed at his cigarette."After the debacle in Russia I left the country, for it wasimprudent for an officer of the Czar to stay there. Many nobleRussians lost everything. I, luckily, had invested heavily inAmerican securities, so I shall never have to open a tearoom inMonte Carlo or drive a taxi in Paris. Naturally, I continued tohunt--grizzliest in your Rockies, crocodiles in the Ganges,rhinoceroses in East Africa. It was in Africa that the Capebuffalo hit me and laid me up for six months. As soon as Irecovered I started for the Amazon to hunt jaguars, for I hadheard they were unusually cunning. They weren't." TheCossack sighed. "They were no match at all for a hunter withhis wits about him, and a high-powered rifle. I was bitterlydisappointed. I was lying in my tent with a splitting headacheone night when a terrible thought pushed its way into my mind.Hunting was beginning to bore me! And hunting, remember, had beenmy life. I have heard that in America businessmen often go topieces when they give up the business that has been their life.""Yes, that's so," said Rainsford. The general smiled."I had no wish to go to pieces," he said. "I mustdo something. Now, mine is an analytical mind, Mr. Rainsford.Doubtless that is why I enjoy the problems of the chase.""No doubt, General Zaroff." "So," continuedthe general, "I asked myself why the hunt no longerfascinated me. You are much younger than I am, Mr. Rainsford, andhave not hunted as much, but you perhaps can guess the answer.""What was it?" "Simply this: hunting had ceased tobe what you call `a sporting proposition.' It had become too easy.I always got my quarry. Always. There is no greater bore thanperfection." The general lit a fresh cigarette. "Noanimal had a chance with me any more. That is no boast; it is amathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs andhis instinct. Instinct is no match for reason. When I thought ofthis it was a tragic moment for me, I can tell you."Rainsford leaned across the table, absorbed in what his host wassaying. "It came to me as an inspiration what I must do,"the general went on. "And that was?" The general smiledthe quiet smile of one who has faced an obstacle and surmountedit with success. "I had to invent a new animal to hunt,"he said. "A new animal? You're joking." "Not atall," said the general. "I never joke about hunting. Ineeded a new animal. I found one. So I bought this island builtthis house, and here I do my hunting. The island is perfect formy purposes--there are jungles with a maze of traits in them,hills, swamps--" "But the animal, General Zaroff?""Oh," said the general, "it supplies me with themost exciting hunting in the world. No other hunting compareswith it for an instant. Every day I hunt, and I never grow borednow, for I have a quarry with which I can match my wits."Rainsford's bewilderment showed in his face. "I wanted theideal animal to hunt," explained the general. "So Isaid, `What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?' And theanswer was, of course, `It must have courage, cunning, and, aboveall, it must be able to reason."' "But no animal canreason," objected Rainsford. "My dear fellow,"said the general, "there is one that can." "Butyou can't mean--" gasped Rainsford. "And why not?""I can't believe you are serious, General Zaroff. This is agrisly joke." "Why should I not be serious? I amspeaking of hunting." "Hunting? Great Guns, GeneralZaroff, what you speak of is murder." The general laughedwith entire good nature. He regarded Rainsford quizzically."I refuse to believe that so modern and civilized a youngman as you seem to be harbors romantic ideas about the value ofhuman life. Surely your experiences in the war--" "Didnot make me condone cold-blooded murder," finished Rainsfordstiffly. Laughter shook the general. "How extraordinarilydroll you are!" he said. "One does not expect nowadaysto find a young man of the educated class, even in America, withsuch a naive, and, if I may say so, mid-Victorian point of view.It's like finding a snuffbox in a limousine. Ah, well, doubtlessyou had Puritan ancestors. So many Americans appear to have had.I'll wager you'll forget your notions when you go hunting with me.You've a genuine new thrill in store for you, Mr. Rainsford.""Thank you, I'm a hunter, not a murderer." "Dearme," said the general, quite unruffled, "again thatunpleasant word. But I think I can show you that your scruplesare quite ill founded." "Yes?" "Life is forthe strong, to be lived by the strong, and, if needs be, taken bythe strong. The weak of the world were put here to give thestrong pleasure. I am strong. Why should I not use my gift? If Iwish to hunt, why should I not? I hunt the scum of the earth:sailors from tramp ships--lassars, blacks, Chinese, whites,mongrels--a thoroughbred horse or hound is worth more than ascore of them." "But they are men," said Rainsfordhotly. "Precisely," said the general. "That is whyI use them. It gives me pleasure. They can reason, after afashion. So they are dangerous." "But where do you getthem?" The general's left eyelid fluttered down in a wink."This island is called Ship Trap," he answered. "Sometimesan angry god of the high seas sends them to me. Sometimes, whenProvidence is not so kind, I help Providence a bit. Come to thewindow with me." Rainsford went to the window and looked outtoward the sea. "Watch! Out there!" exclaimed thegeneral, pointing into the night. Rainsford's eyes saw onlyblackness, and then, as the general pressed a button, far out tosea Rainsford saw the flash of lights. The general chuckled."They indicate a channel," he said, "where there'snone; giant rocks with razor edges crouch like a sea monster withwide-open jaws. They can crush a ship as easily as I crush thisnut." He dropped a walnut on the hardwood floor and broughthis heel grinding down on it. "Oh, yes," he said,casually, as if in answer to a question, "I have electricity.We try to be civilized here." "Civilized? And you shootdown men?" A trace of anger was in the general's black eyes,but it was there for but a second; and he said, in his mostpleasant manner, "Dear me, what a righteous young man youare! I assure you I do not do the thing you suggest. That wouldbe barbarous. I treat these visitors with every consideration.They get plenty of good food and exercise. They get into splendidphysical condition. You shall see for yourself tomorrow.""What do you mean?" "We'll visit my trainingschool," smiled the general. "It's in the cellar. Ihave about a dozen pupils down there now. They're from theSpanish bark San Lucar that had the bad luck to go on the rocksout there. A very inferior lot, I regret to say. Poor specimensand more accustomed to the deck than to the jungle." Heraised his hand, and Ivan, who served as waiter, brought thickTurkish coffee. Rainsford, with an effort, held his tongue incheck. "It's a game, you see," pursued the generalblandly. "I suggest to one of them that we go hunting. Igive him a supply of food and an excellent hunting knife. I givehim three hours' start. I am to follow, armed only with a pistolof the smallest caliber and range. If my quarry eludes me forthree whole days, he wins the game. If I find him "--thegeneral smiled--" he loses." "Suppose he refusesto be hunted?" "Oh," said the general, "Igive him his option, of course. He need not play that game if hedoesn't wish to. If he does not wish to hunt, I turn him over toIvan. Ivan once had the honor of serving as official knouter tothe Great White Czar, and he has his own ideas of sport.Invariably, Mr. Rainsford, invariably they choose the hunt.""And if they win?" The smile on the general's facewidened. "To date I have not lost," he said. Then headded, hastily: "I don't wish you to think me a braggart, Mr.Rainsford. Many of them afford only the most elementary sort ofproblem. Occasionally I strike a tartar. One almost did win. Ieventually had to use the dogs." "The dogs?""This way, please. I'll show you." The general steeredRainsford to a window. The lights from the windows sent aflickering illumination that made grotesque patterns on thecourtyard below, and Rainsford could see moving about there adozen or so huge black shapes; as they turned toward him, theireyes glittered greenly. "A rather good lot, I think,"observed the general. "They are let out at seven every night.If anyone should try to get into my house--or out of it--somethingextremely regrettable would occur to him." He hummed asnatch of song from the Folies Bergere. "And now," saidthe general, "I want to show you my new collection of heads.Will you come with me to the library?" "I hope,"said Rainsford, "that you will excuse me tonight, GeneralZaroff. I'm really not feeling well." "Ah, indeed?"the general inquired solicitously. "Well, I suppose that'sonly natural, after your long swim. You need a good, restfulnight's sleep. Tomorrow you'll feel like a new man, I'll wager.Then we'll hunt, eh? I've one rather promising prospect--"Rainsford was hurrying from the room. "Sorry you can't gowith me tonight," called the general. "I expect ratherfair sport--a big, strong, black. He looks resourceful--Well,good night, Mr. Rainsford; I hope you have a good night's rest."The bed was good, and the pajamas of the softest silk, and he wastired in every fiber of his being, but nevertheless Rainsfordcould not quiet his brain with the opiate of sleep. He lay, eyeswide open. Once he thought he heard stealthy steps in thecorridor outside his room. He sought to throw open the door; itwould not open. He went to the window and looked out. His roomwas high up in one of the towers. The lights of the chateau wereout now, and it was dark and silent; but there was a fragment ofsallow moon, and by its wan light he could see, dimly, thecourtyard. There, weaving in and out in the pattern of shadow,were black, noiseless forms; the hounds heard him at the windowand looked up, expectantly, with their green eyes. Rainsford wentback to the bed and lay down. By many methods he tried to puthimself to sleep. He had achieved a doze when, just as morningbegan to come, he heard, far off in the jungle, the faint reportof a pistol. General Zaroff did not appear until luncheon. He wasdressed faultlessly in the tweeds of a country squire. He wassolicitous about the state of Rainsford's health. "As forme," sighed the general, "I do not feel so well. I amworried, Mr. Rainsford. Last night I detected traces of my oldcomplaint." To Rainsford's questioning glance the generalsaid, "Ennui. Boredom." Then, taking a second helpingof crêpes Suzette, the general explained: "Thehunting was not good last night. The fellow lost his head. Hemade a straight trail that offered no problems at all. That's thetrouble with these sailors; they have dull brains to begin with,and they do not know how to get about in the woods. They doexcessively stupid and obvious things. It's most annoying. Willyou have another glass of Chablis, Mr. Rainsford?" "General,"said Rainsford firmly, "I wish to leave this island at once."The general raised his thickets of eyebrows; he seemed hurt."But, my dear fellow," the general protested, "you'veonly just come. You've had no hunting--" "I wish to gotoday," said Rainsford. He saw the dead black eyes of thegeneral on him, studying him. General Zaroff's face suddenlybrightened. He filled Rainsford's glass with venerable Chablisfrom a dusty bottle. "Tonight," said the general,"we will hunt--you and I." Rainsford shook his head."No, general," he said. "I will not hunt."The general shrugged his shoulders and delicately ate a hothousegrape. "As you wish, my friend," he said. "Thechoice rests entirely with you. But may I not venture to suggestthat you will find my idea of sport more diverting than Ivan's?"He nodded toward the corner to where the giant stood, scowling,his thick arms crossed on his hogshead of chest. "You don'tmean--" cried Rainsford. "My dear fellow," saidthe general, "have I not told you I always mean what I sayabout hunting? This is really an inspiration. I drink to a foemanworthy of my steel--at last." The general raised his glass,but Rainsford sat staring at him. "You'll find this gameworth playing," the general said enthusiastically."Your brain against mine. Your woodcraft against mine. Yourstrength and stamina against mine. Outdoor chess! And the stakeis not without value, eh?" "And if I win--" beganRainsford huskily. "I'll cheerfully acknowledge myselfdefeat if I do not find you by midnight of the third day,"said General Zaroff. "My sloop will place you on themainland near a town." The general read what Rainsford wasthinking. "Oh, you can trust me," said the Cossack."I will give you my word as a gentleman and a sportsman. Ofcourse you, in turn, must agree to say nothing of your visit here.""I'll agree to nothing of the kind," said Rainsford."Oh," said the general, "in that case--But whydiscuss that now? Three days hence we can discuss it over abottle of Veuve Cliquot, unless--" The general sipped hiswine. Then a businesslike air animated him. "Ivan," hesaid to Rainsford, "will supply you with hunting clothes,food, a knife. I suggest you wear moccasins; they leave a poorertrail. I suggest, too, that you avoid the big swamp in thesoutheast corner of the island. We call it Death Swamp. There'squicksand there. One foolish fellow tried it. The deplorable partof it was that Lazarus followed him. You can imagine my feelings,Mr. Rainsford. I loved Lazarus; he was the finest hound in mypack. Well, I must beg you to excuse me now. I always' take asiesta after lunch. You'll hardly have time for a nap, I fear.You'll want to start, no doubt. I shall not follow till dusk.Hunting at night is so much more exciting than by day, don't youthink? Au revoir, Mr. Rainsford, au revoir." General Zaroff,with a deep, courtly bow, strolled from the room. >Fromanother door came Ivan. Under one arm he carried khaki huntingclothes, a haversack of food, a leather sheath containing a long-bladedhunting knife; his right hand rested on a cocked revolver thrustin the crimson sash about his waist. Rainsford had fought his waythrough the bush for two hours. "I must keep my nerve. Imust keep my nerve," he said through tight teeth. He had notbeen entirely clearheaded when the chateau gates snapped shutbehind him. His whole idea at first was to put distance betweenhimself and General Zaroff; and, to this end, he had plungedalong, spurred on by the sharp rowers of something very likepanic. Now he had got a grip on himself, had stopped, and wastaking stock of himself and the situation. He saw that straightflight was futile; inevitably it would bring him face to facewith the sea. He was in a picture with a frame of water, and hisoperations, clearly, must take place within that frame. "I'llgive him a trail to follow," muttered Rainsford, and hestruck off from the rude path he had been following into thetrackless wilderness. He executed a series of intricate loops; hedoubled on his trail again and again, recalling all the lore ofthe fox hunt, and all the dodges of the fox. Night found him leg-weary,with hands and face lashed by the branches, on a thickly woodedridge. He knew it would be insane to blunder on through the dark,even if he had the strength. His need for rest was imperative andhe thought, "I have played the fox, now I must play the catof the fable." A big tree with a thick trunk and outspreadbranches was near by, and, taking care to leave not the slightestmark, he climbed up into the crotch, and, stretching out on oneof the broad limbs, after a fashion, rested. Rest brought him newconfidence and almost a feeling of security. Even so zealous ahunter as General Zaroff could not trace him there, he toldhimself; only the devil himself could follow that complicatedtrail through the jungle after dark. But perhaps the general wasa devil-- An apprehensive night crawled slowly by like a woundedsnake and sleep did not visit Rainsford, although the silence ofa dead world was on the jungle. Toward morning when a dingy graywas varnishing the sky, the cry of some startled bird focusedRainsford's attention in that direction. Something was comingthrough the bush, coming slowly, carefully, coming by the samewinding way Rainsford had come. He flattened himself down on thelimb and, through a screen of leaves almost as thick as tapestry,he watched. . . . That which was approaching was a man. It wasGeneral Zaroff. He made his way along with his eyes fixed inutmost concentration on the ground before him. He paused, almostbeneath the tree, dropped to his knees and studied the ground.Rainsford's impulse was to hurl himself down like a panther, buthe saw that the general's right hand held something metallic--asmall automatic pistol. The hunter shook his head several times,as if he were puzzled. Then he straightened up and took from hiscase one of his black cigarettes; its pungent incenselike smokefloated up to Rainsford's nostrils. Rainsford held his breath.The general's eyes had left the ground and were traveling inch byinch up the tree. Rainsford froze there, every muscle tensed fora spring. But the sharp eyes of the hunter stopped before theyreached the limb where Rainsford lay; a smile spread over hisbrown face. Very deliberately he blew a smoke ring into the air;then he turned his back on the tree and walked carelessly away,back along the trail he had come. The swish of the underbrushagainst his hunting boots grew fainter and fainter. The pent-upair burst hotly from Rainsford's lungs. His first thought madehim feel sick and numb. The general could follow a trail throughthe woods at night; he could follow an extremely difficult trail;he must have uncanny powers; only by the merest chance had theCossack failed to see his quarry. Rainsford's second thought waseven more terrible. It sent a shudder of cold horror through hiswhole being. Why had the general smiled? Why had he turned back?Rainsford did not want to believe what his reason told him wastrue, but the truth was as evident as the sun that had by nowpushed through the morning mists. The general was playing withhim! The general was saving him for another day's sport! TheCossack was the cat; he was the mouse. Then it was that Rainsfordknew the full meaning of terror. "I will not lose my nerve.I will not." He slid down from the tree, and struck offagain into the woods. His face was set and he forced themachinery of his mind to function. Three hundred yards from hishiding place he stopped where a huge dead tree leanedprecariously on a smaller, living one. Throwing off his sack offood, Rainsford took his knife from its sheath and began to workwith all his energy. The job was finished at last, and he threwhimself down behind a fallen log a hundred feet away. He did nothave to wait long. The cat was coming again to play with themouse. Following the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound cameGeneral Zaroff. Nothing escaped those searching black eyes, nocrushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark, no matter howfaint, in the moss. So intent was the Cossack on his stalkingthat he was upon the thing Rainsford had made before he saw it.His foot touched the protruding bough that was the trigger. Evenas he touched it, the general sensed his danger and leaped backwith the agility of an ape. But he was not quite quick enough;the dead tree, delicately adjusted to rest on the cut living one,crashed down and struck the general a glancing blow on theshoulder as it fell; but for his alertness, he must have beensmashed beneath it. He staggered, but he did not fall; nor did hedrop his revolver. He stood there, rubbing his injured shoulder,and Rainsford, with fear again gripping his heart, heard thegeneral's mocking laugh ring through the jungle. "Rainsford,"called the general, "if you are within sound of my voice, asI suppose you are, let me congratulate you. Not many men know howto make a Malay mancatcher. Luckily for me I, too, have hunted inMalacca. You are proving interesting, Mr. Rainsford. I am goingnow to have my wound dressed; it's only a slight one. But I shallbe back. I shall be back." When the general, nursing hisbruised shoulder, had gone, Rainsford took up his flight again.It was flight now, a desperate, hopeless flight, that carried himon for some hours. Dusk came, then darkness, and still he pressedon. The ground grew softer under his moccasins; the vegetationgrew ranker, denser; insects bit him savagely. Then, as hestepped forward, his foot sank into the ooze. He tried to wrenchit back, but the muck sucked viciously at his foot as if it werea giant leech. With a violent effort, he tore his feet loose. Heknew where he was now. Death Swamp and its quicksand. His handswere tight closed as if his nerve were something tangible thatsomeone in the darkness was trying to tear from his grip. Thesoftness of the earth had given him an idea. He stepped back fromthe quicksand a dozen feet or so and, like some huge prehistoricbeaver, he began to dig. Rainsford had dug himself in in Francewhen a second's delay meant death. That had been a placid pastimecompared to his digging now. The pit grew deeper; when it wasabove his shoulders, he climbed out and from some hard saplingscut stakes and sharpened them to a fine point. These stakes heplanted in the bottom of the pit with the points sticking up.With flying fingers he wove a rough carpet of weeds and branchesand with it he covered the mouth of the pit. Then, wet with sweatand aching with tiredness, he crouched behind the stump of alightning-charred tree. He knew his pursuer was coming; he heardthe padding sound of feet on the soft earth, and the night breezebrought him the perfume of the general's cigarette. It seemed toRainsford that the general was coming with unusual swiftness; hewas not feeling his way along, foot by foot. Rainsford, crouchingthere, could not see the general, nor could he see the pit. Helived a year in a minute. Then he felt an impulse to cry aloudwith joy, for he heard the sharp crackle of the breaking branchesas the cover of the pit gave way; he heard the sharp scream ofpain as the pointed stakes found their mark. He leaped up fromhis place of concealment. Then he cowered back. Three feet fromthe pit a man was standing, with an electric torch in his hand."You've done well, Rainsford," the voice of the generalcalled. "Your Burmese tiger pit has claimed one of my bestdogs. Again you score. I think, Mr. Rainsford, Ill see what youcan do against my whole pack. I'm going home for a rest now.Thank you for a most amusing evening." At daybreakRainsford, lying near the swamp, was awakened by a sound thatmade him know that he had new things to learn about fear. It wasa distant sound, faint and wavering, but he knew it. It was thebaying of a pack of hounds. Rainsford knew he could do one of twothings. He could stay where he was and wait. That was suicide. Hecould flee. That was postponing the inevitable. For a moment hestood there, thinking. An idea that held a wild chance came tohim, and, tightening his belt, he headed away from the swamp. Thebaying of the hounds drew nearer, then still nearer, nearer, evernearer. On a ridge Rainsford climbed a tree. Down a watercourse,not a quarter of a mile away, he could see the bush moving.Straining his eyes, he saw the lean figure of General Zaroff;just ahead of him Rainsford made out another figure whose wideshoulders surged through the tall jungle weeds; it was the giantIvan, and he seemed pulled forward by some unseen force;Rainsford knew that Ivan must be holding the pack in leash. Theywould be on him any minute now. His mind worked frantically. Hethought of a native trick he had learned in Uganda. He slid downthe tree. He caught hold of a springy young sapling and to it hefastened his hunting knife, with the blade pointing down thetrail; with a bit of wild grapevine he tied back the sapling.Then he ran for his life. The hounds raised their voices as theyhit the fresh scent. Rainsford knew now how an animal at bayfeels. He had to stop to get his breath. The baying of the houndsstopped abruptly, and Rainsford's heart stopped too. They musthave reached the knife. He shinned excitedly up a tree and lookedback. His pursuers had stopped. But the hope that was inRainsford's brain when he climbed died, for he saw in the shallowvalley that General Zaroff was still on his feet. But Ivan wasnot. The knife, driven by the recoil of the springing tree, hadnot wholly failed. Rainsford had hardly tumbled to the groundwhen the pack took up the cry again. "Nerve, nerve, nerve!"he panted, as he dashed along. A blue gap showed between thetrees dead ahead. Ever nearer drew the hounds. Rainsford forcedhimself on toward that gap. He reached it. It was the shore ofthe sea. Across a cove he could see the gloomy gray stone of thechateau. Twenty feet below him the sea rumbled and hissed.Rainsford hesitated. He heard the hounds. Then he leaped far outinto the sea. . . . When the general and his pack reached theplace by the sea, the Cossack stopped. For some minutes he stoodregarding the blue-green expanse of water. He shrugged hisshoulders. Then be sat down, took a drink of brandy from a silverflask, lit a cigarette, and hummed a bit from Madame Butterfly.General Zaroff had an exceedingly good dinner in his greatpaneled dining hall that evening. With it he had a bottle of PolRoger and half a bottle of Chambertin. Two slight annoyances kepthim from perfect enjoyment. One was the thought that it would bedifficult to replace Ivan; the other was that his quarry hadescaped him; of course, the American hadn't played the game--sothought the general as he tasted his after-dinner liqueur. In hislibrary he read, to soothe himself, from the works of MarcusAurelius. At ten he went up to his bedroom. He was deliciouslytired, he said to himself, as he locked himself in. There was alittle moonlight, so, before turning on his light, he went to thewindow and looked down at the courtyard. He could see the greathounds, and he called, "Better luck another time," tothem. Then he switched on the light. A man, who had been hidingin the curtains of the bed, was standing there. "Rainsford!"screamed the general. "How in God's name did you get here?""Swam," said Rainsford. "I found it quicker thanwalking through the jungle." The general sucked in hisbreath and smiled. "I congratulate you," he said."You have won the game." Rainsford did not smile."I am still a beast at bay," he said, in a low, hoarsevoice. "Get ready, General Zaroff." The general madeone of his deepest bows. "I see," he said. "Splendid!One of us is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other willsleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Rainsford." . .. He had never slept in a better bed, Rainsford decided.