Short Story: The Most Dangerous Game

The Most Dangerous GameBy Richard Connell"OFF THERE to the right--somewhere--is a large island," saidWhitney." It's rather a mystery--""What island is it?" Rainsford asked."The old charts call it `Ship-TrapIsland,"' Whitney replied." A suggestivename, isn't it? Sailors have a curious dreadof the place. I don't know why. Somesuperstition--""Can't see it," remarked Rainsford,trying to peer through the dank tropicalnight that was palpable as it pressed itsthick warm blackness in upon the yacht"You've good eyes," said Whitney,with a laugh," and I've seen you pick off amoose moving in the brown fall bush atfour hundred yards, but even you can't seefour miles or so through a moonlessCaribbean night.""Nor four yards," admittedRainsford. "Ugh! It's like moist blackvelvet.""It will be light enough in Rio,"promised Whitney. "We should make it in afew days. I hope the jaguar guns have comefrom Purdey's. We should have some goodhunting 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," saidRainsford. "You're a big-game hunter, not aphilosopher. Who cares how a jaguarfeels?""Perhaps the jaguar does," observedWhitney."Bah! They've no understanding.""Even so, I rather think theyunderstand one thing--fear. The fear of painand the fear of death.""Nonsense," laughed Rainsford."This hot weather is making you soft,Whitney. Be a realist. The world is made upof two classes--the hunters and thehuntees. Luckily, you and I are hunters. Doyou think we've passed that island yet?""I can't tell in the dark. I hope so.""Why? " asked Rainsford."The place has a reputation--a badone." Didn't you notice that the crew'snerves seemed a bit jumpy today?""They were a bit strange, now youmention it. Even Captain Nielsen--""Yes, even that tough-minded oldSwede, who'd go up to the devil himself andask him for a light. Those fishy blue eyesheld a look I never saw there before. All Icould get out of him was `This place has anevil name among seafaring men, sir.' Thenhe said to me, very gravely, `Don't you feelanything?'--as if the air about us wasactually poisonous. Now, you mustn't laughwhen I tell you this--I did feel something likea sudden chill."There was no breeze. The sea wasas flat as a plate-glass window. We weredrawing near the island then. What I feltwas a--a mental chill; a sort of suddendread.""Pure imagination," said Rainsford."One superstitious sailor can taint thewhole ship's company with his fear.""Maybe. But sometimes I thinksailors have an extra sense that tells themwhen they are in danger. Sometimes I thinkevil is a tangible thing--with wave lengths,just as sound and light have. An evil placecan, so to speak, broadcast vibrations ofevil. Anyhow, I'm glad we're getting out ofthis zone. Well, I think I'll turn in now,Rainsford."1

"I'm not sleepy," said Rainsford. "I'mgoing to smoke another pipe up on theafterdeck.""Good night, then, Rainsford. Seeyou at breakfast.""Right. Good night, Whitney."There was no sound in the night asRainsford sat there but the muffled throb ofthe engine that drove the yacht swiftlythrough the darkness, and the swish andripple of the wash of the propeller.It's so dark," he thought, "that Icould sleep without closing my eyes; thenight would be my eyelids--"An abrupt sound startled him. Off tothe right he heard it, and his ears, expert insuch matters, could not be mistaken. Againhe heard the sound, and again. Somewhere,off in the blackness, someone had fired agun three times.Rainsford sprang up and movedquickly to the rail, mystified. He strained hiseyes in the direction from which the reportshad come, but it was like trying to seethrough a blanket. He leaped upon the railand balanced himself there, to get greaterelevation; his pipe, striking a rope, wasknocked from his mouth. He lunged for it; ashort, hoarse cry came from his lips as herealized he had reached too far and had losthis balance. The cry was pinched off shortas the blood-warm waters of the CaribbeanSea dosed over his head.He struggled up to the surface andtried to cry out, but the wash from thespeeding yacht slapped him in the face andthe salt water in his open mouth made himgag and strangle. Desperately he struck outwith strong strokes after the receding lightsof the yacht, but he stopped before he hadswum fifty feet. A certain coolheadednesshad come to him; it was not the first timehe had been in a tight place. There was achance that his cries could be heard bysomeone aboard the yacht, but that chancewas slender and grew more slender as theyacht raced on. He wrestled himself out ofhis clothes and shouted with all his power.The lights of the yacht became faint andever-vanishing fireflies; then they wereblotted 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 tocount his strokes; he could do possibly ahundred more and then—Rainsford heard a sound. It cameout of the darkness, a high screamingsound, the sound of an animal in anextremity of anguish and terror.He did not recognize the animal thatmade the sound; he did not try to; withfresh vitality he swam toward the sound. Heheard it again; then it was cut short byanother noise, crisp, staccato."Pistol shot," muttered Rainsford,swimming on.Ten minutes of determined effortbrought another sound to his ears--themost welcome he had ever heard--themuttering and growling of the sea breakingon a rocky shore. He was almost on therocks before he saw them; on a night lesscalm he would have been shattered againstthem. With his remaining strength hedragged himself from the swirling waters.Jagged crags appeared to jut up into theopaqueness; he forced himself upward,hand over hand. Gasping, his hands raw, hereached a flat place at the top. Dense junglecame down to the very edge of the cliffs.What perils that tangle of trees andunderbrush might hold for him did not2

concern Rainsford just then. All he knewwas that he was safe from his enemy, thesea, and that utter weariness was on him.He flung himself down at the jungle edgeand tumbled headlong into the deepestsleep of his life.When he opened his eyes he knewfrom the position of the sun that it was latein the afternoon. Sleep had given him newvigor; a sharp hunger was picking at him. Helooked about him, almost cheerfully."Where there are pistol shots, thereare men. Where there are men, there isfood," he thought. But what kind of men, hewondered, in so forbidding a place? Anunbroken front of snarled and ragged junglefringed the shore.He saw no sign of a trail through theclosely knit web of weeds and trees; it waseasier to go along the shore, and Rainsfordfloundered along by the water. Not far fromwhere he landed, he stopped.Some wounded thing--by theevidence, a large animal--had thrashedabout in the underbrush; the jungle weedswere crushed down and the moss waslacerated; one patch of weeds was stainedcrimson. A small, glittering object not faraway caught Rainsford's eye and he pickedit up. It was an empty cartridge."A twenty-two," he remarked."That's odd. It must have been a fairly largeanimal too. The hunter had his nerve withhim to tackle it with a light gun. It's clearthat the brute put up a fight. I suppose thefirst three shots I heard was when thehunter flushed his quarry and wounded it.The last shot was when he trailed it hereand finished it."He examined the ground closely andfound what he had hoped to find--the printof hunting boots. They pointed along thecliff in the direction he had been going.Eagerly he hurried along, now slipping on arotten log or a loose stone, but makingheadway; night was beginning to settledown on the island.Bleak darkness was blacking out thesea and jungle when Rainsford sighted thelights. He came upon them as he turned acrook in the coast line; and his first thoughtwas that be had come upon a village, forthere were many lights. But as he forgedalong he saw to his great astonishment thatall the lights were in one enormousbuilding--a lofty structure with pointedtowers plunging upward into the gloom. Hiseyes made out the shadowy outlines of apalatial chateau; it was set on a high bluff,and on three sides of it cliffs dived down towhere the sea licked greedy lips in theshadows."Mirage," thought Rainsford. But itwas no mirage, he found, when he openedthe tall spiked iron gate. The stone stepswere real enough; the massive door with aleering gargoyle for a knocker was realenough; yet above it all hung an air ofunreality.He lifted the knocker, and it creakedup stiffly, as if it had never before beenused. He let it fall, and it startled him withits booming loudness. He thought he heardsteps within; the door remained closed.Again Rainsford lifted the heavy knocker,and let it fall. The door opened then--opened as suddenly as if it were on aspring--and Rainsford stood blinking in theriver of glaring gold light that poured out.The first thing Rainsford's eyes discernedwas the largest man Rainsford had everseen--a gigantic creature, solidly made andblack bearded to the waist. In his hand theman held a long-barreled revolver, and hewas pointing it straight at Rainsford's heart.3

Out of the snarl of beard two smalleyes regarded Rainsford."Don't be alarmed," said Rainsford,with a smile which he hoped was disarming."I'm no robber. I fell off a yacht. My name isSanger Rainsford of New York City."The menacing look in the eyes didnot change. The revolver pointing as rigidlyas if the giant were a statue. He gave nosign that he understood Rainsford's words,or that he had even heard them. He wasdressed in uniform--a black uniformtrimmed with gray astrakhan."I'm Sanger Rainsford of New York,"Rainsford began again. "I fell off a yacht. Iam hungry."The man's only answer was to raisewith his thumb the hammer of his revolver.Then Rainsford saw the man's free hand goto his forehead in a military salute, and hesaw him click his heels together and standat attention. Another man was comingdown the broad marble steps, an erect,slender man in evening clothes. Headvanced to Rainsford and held out hishand.In a cultivated voice marked by aslight accent that gave it added precisionand deliberateness, he said, "It is a verygreat pleasure and honor to welcome Mr.Sanger Rainsford, the celebrated hunter, tomy home."Automatically Rainsford shook theman's hand."I've read your book about huntingsnow leopards in Tibet, you see," explainedthe man. "I am General Zaroff."He was a tall man past middle age,for his hair was a vivid white; but his thickeyebrows and pointed military mustachewere as black as the night from whichRainsford had come. His eyes, too, wereblack and very bright. He had highcheekbones, a sharpcut nose, a spare, darkface--the face of a man used to givingorders, the face of an aristocrat. Turning tothe giant in uniform, the general made asign. The giant put away his pistol, saluted,withdrew."Ivan is an incredibly strong fellow,"remarked the general, "but he has themisfortune to be deaf. A simple fellow, a bitof a savage.""Is he Russian?""He is a Cossack," said the general,and his smile showed red lips and pointedteeth. "So am I.""Come," he said, "we shouldn't bechatting here. We can talk later. Now youwant clothes, food, rest. You shall havethem. This is a most-restful spot."Ivan had reappeared, and thegeneral spoke to him with lips that movedbut gave forth no sound."Follow Ivan, if you please, Mr.Rainsford," said the general. "I was about tohave my dinner when you came. I'll wait foryou. You'll find that my clothes will fit you, Ithink."It was to a huge bedroom thatRainsford followed the silent giant. Ivan laidout an evening suit, and Rainsford, as heput it on, noticed that it came from aLondon tailor.The dining room to which Ivanconducted him was in many waysremarkable. There was a magnificenceabout it, with its oak panels, its high ceiling,its vast table where twoscore men could sitdown to eat. About the hall were mountedheads of many animals--lions, tigers,elephants, moose, bears; larger or moreperfect specimens Rainsford had neverseen. At the great table the general wassitting, alone.4

Rainsford noted the tableappointments were of the finest--the linen,the crystal, the silver, the china.They were eating rich, red soup withsour cream. General Zaroff said: "We do ourbest here. Please forgive any lapses. We arewell off the beaten track, you know.Rainsford was finding the general amost thoughtful host. But there was onesmall trait of the general's that madeRainsford uncomfortable. Whenever helooked up from his plate he found thegeneral studying him."Perhaps," said General Zaroff, "youwere surprised that I recognized your name.You see, I read all books on huntingpublished in English, French, and Russian. Ihave but one passion in my life, Mr. Rains.ford, and it is the hunt.""You have some wonderful headshere," said Rainsford as he ate. "That Capebuffalo is the largest I ever saw.""Oh, that fellow. Yes, he was amonster.""Did he charge you?""Hurled me against a tree," said thegeneral. "Fractured my skull. But I got thebrute.""I've always thought," saidRainsford, "that the Cape buffalo is themost dangerous of all big game."For a moment the general did notreply; he was smiling his curious red-lippedsmile. Then he said slowly, "No. You arewrong, sir. The Cape buffalo is not the mostdangerous big game." He sipped his wine."Here in my preserve on this island," he saidin the same slow tone, "I hunt moredangerous game."Rainsford expressed his surprise. "Isthere big game on this island?"The general nodded. "The biggest.""Really?""Oh, it isn't here naturally, of course.I have to stock the island.""What have you imported, general?"Rainsford asked. "Tigers?"The general smiled. "No," he said."Hunting tigers ceased to interest me someyears ago. I exhausted their possibilities,you see. No thrill left in tigers, no realdanger. I live for danger, Mr. Rainsford. Wewill have some capital hunting, you and I,"said the general. "I shall be most glad tohave your society.""But what game--" began Rainsford."I'll tell you," said the general. "Youwill be amused, I know. I think I may say, inall modesty, that I have done a rare thing. Ihave invented a new sensation.I was lying in my tent with a splittingheadache one night when a terrible thoughtpushed its way into my mind. Hunting wasbeginning to bore me! And hunting,remember, had been my life.”"Yes," said Rainsford.The general smiled. "I had no wishto go to pieces," he said. "I must dosomething. So I asked myself why the huntno longer fascinated me. You are muchyounger than I am, Mr. Rainsford, and havenot hunted as much, but you perhaps canguess the answer.""What was it?""Simply this: hunting had ceased tobe what you call `a sporting proposition.' Ithad become too easy. I always got myquarry. Always. There is no greater borethan perfection."The general lit a fresh cigarette."No animal had a chance with meanymore. That is no boast; it is a certainty.The animal had nothing but his legs and hisinstinct. Instinct is no match for reason.When I thought of this it was a tragicmoment for me, I can tell you."5

Rainsford leaned across the table,absorbed in what his host was saying."It came to me as an inspirationwhat I must do," the general went on."And that was?"The general smiled the quiet smileof one who has faced an obstacle andsurmounted it with success. "I had to inventa new animal to hunt," he said."A new animal? You're joking.""Not at all," said the general. "Inever joke about hunting. I needed a newanimal. I found one. So I bought this islandbuilt this house, and here I do my hunting.The island is perfect for my purposes--thereare jungles with a maze of traits in them,hills, swamps--""But the animal, General Zaroff?""Oh," said the general, "it suppliesme with the most exciting hunting in theworld. No other hunting compares with itfor an instant. Every day I hunt, and I nevergrow bored now, for I have a quarry withwhich I can match my wits."Rainsford's bewilderment showed inhis face."I wanted the ideal animal to hunt,"explained the general. "So I said, `What arethe attributes of an ideal quarry?' And theanswer was, of course, `It must havecourage, cunning, and, above all, it must beable to reason."'"But no animal can reason,"objected Rainsford."My dear fellow," said the general,"there is one that can.""But you can't mean--" gaspedRainsford."And why not?""I can't believe you are serious,General Zaroff. This is a joke.""Why should I not be serious? I amspeaking of hunting.""Hunting? General Zaroff, what youspeak of is murder."The general laughed. I'll wager you'llforget your notions when you go huntingwith me. You've a genuine new thrill instore for you, Mr. Rainsford."Thank you, I'm a hunter, not amurderer.""Dear me, "said the general, "againthat unpleasant word."Yes?""Life is for the strong, to be lived by thestrong, and, if needs be, taken by thestrong. The weak of the world were puthere to give the strong pleasure. I amstrong. If I wish to hunt, why should I not?"But they are men," said Rainsfordhotly."Precisely," said the general. "That iswhy I use them. It gives me pleasure. Theycan reason. So they are dangerous.""But where do you get them?"The general's left eyelid fluttereddown in a wink. "This island is called ShipTrap," he answered. "Come to the windowwith me."Rainsford went to the window andlooked out toward the sea."Watch! Out there!" exclaimed thegeneral, pointing into the night. Rainsford'seyes saw only blackness, and then, as thegeneral pressed a button, far out to seaRainsford saw the flash of lights.The general chuckled. "They indicatea channel," he said, "where there's none;giant rocks with razor edges crouch like asea monster with wide-open jaws. They cancrush a ship as easily as I crush this nut." Hedropped a walnut on the hardwood floorand brought his heel grinding down on it."Oh, yes," he said, casually, as if in answerto a question, "I have electricity. We try tobe civilized here."6

"Civilized? And you shoot downmen?"A trace of anger was in the general'sblack eyes, but it was there for but asecond; and he said, in his most pleasantmanner, "Dear me, what a righteous youngman you are! I assure you I do not do thething you suggest. That would bebarbarous. I treat these visitors with everyconsideration. They get plenty of good foodand exercise. They get into splendidphysical condition. You shall see for yourselftomorrow.""What do you mean?""We'll visit my training school,"smiled the general. "It's in the cellar. I haveabout a dozen pupils down there now. " Heraised his hand, and Ivan, who served aswaiter, brought thick Turkish coffee.Rainsford, with an effort, held his tongue incheck."It's a game, you see," pursued thegeneral blandly. "I suggest to one of themthat we go hunting. I give him a supply offood and an excellent hunting knife. I givehim three hours' start. I am to follow,armed only with a pistol of the smallestcaliber and range. If my quarry eludes mefor three whole days, he wins the game. If Ifind him "--the general smiled--" he loses.""Suppose he refuses to be hunted?""Oh," said the general, "I give himhis option, of course. He need not play thatgame if he doesn't wish to. If he does notwish to hunt, I turn him over to Ivan.Invariably, Mr. Rainsford, invariably theychoose the hunt.""And if they win?"The smile on the general's facewidened. "To date I have not lost," he said.Then he added, hastily: "I don't wishyou to think me a braggart, Mr. Rainsford.One almost did win. I eventually had to usethe dogs.""The dogs?""This way, please. I'll show you."The general steered Rainsford to awindow. The lights from the windows sent aflickering illumination that made grotesquepatterns on the courtyard below, andRainsford could see moving about there adozen or so huge black shapes; as theyturned toward him, their eyes glitteredgreenly."A rather good lot, I think," observedthe general. "They are let out at sevenevery night. If anyone should try to get intomy house--or out of it--somethingextremely regrettable would occur to him."And now," said the general, "w ill youcome with me to the library?""I hope," said Rainsford, "that youwill excuse me tonight, General Zaroff. I'mreally not feeling well.""Ah, indeed?" the general inquired."Well, I suppose that's only natural, afteryour long swim. You need a good, restfulnight's sleep. Tomorrow you'll feel like anew man, I'll wager. Then we'll hunt, eh?I've one rather promising prospect--""Sorry you can't go with metonight," called the general. "I expect ratherfair sport--a big, strong fellow. He looksresourceful--Well, good night, Mr.Rainsford; I hope you have a good night'srest."The bed was good, and the pajamasof the softest silk, and he was tired in everyfiber of his being, but neverthelessRainsford could not quiet his brain of sleep.He lay, eyes wide open. Once he thought heheard steps in the corridor outside hisroom. He sought to throw open the door; itwould not open. He went to the windowand looked out. His room was high up in7

one of the towers. The lights of the chateauwere out now, and it was dark and silent;but there was a fragment of moon, and byits wan light he could see, dimly, thecourtyard. There, weaving in and out in thepattern of shadow, were black, noiselessforms; the hounds heard him at the windowand looked up, with their green eyes.Rainsford went back to the bed and laydown. By many methods he tried to puthimself to sleep. He had achieved a dozewhen, just as morning began to come, heheard, far off in the jungle, a pistol.General Zaroff did not appear untilluncheon. He was dressed faultlessly. Hewas solicitous about the state of Rainsford'shealth."As for me," sighed the general, "Ido not feel so well. I am worried, Mr.Rainsford. Last night I detected traces of myold complaint."To Rainsford's questioning glancethe general said, “Boredom."Then, the general explained: "Thehunting was not good last night. The fellowlost his head. He made a straight trail thatoffered no problems at all. That's thetrouble with these sailors; they do not knowhow to get about in the woods. They dostupid and obvious things. It's mostannoying.”"General," said Rainsford firmly, "Iwish to leave this island at once."The general raised his thickets ofeyebrows; he seemed hurt. "But, my dearfellow," the general protested, "you've onlyjust come. You've had no hunting--""I wish to go today," said Rainsford.He saw the dead black eyes of the generalon him, studying him. General Zaroff's facesuddenly brightened."Tonight," said the general, "we willhunt--you and I."Rainsford shook his head. "No,general," he said. "I will not hunt."The general shrugged his shouldersand delicately ate a grape. "As you wish, myfriend," he said. "The choice rests entirelywith you. But may I suggest that you willfind my idea of sport more diverting thanIvan's?"He nodded toward the corner towhere the giant stood, scowling, his thickarms crossed on his hogshead of chest."You don't mean--" cried Rainsford."My dear fellow," said the general,"have I not told you I always mean what Isay about hunting? This is really aninspiration. I drink to a foe worthy of mysteel--at last."The general raised his glass, butRainsford sat staring at him."You'll find this game worthplaying," the general said enthusiastically."Your brain against mine. Your woodcraftagainst mine. Your strength and staminaagainst mine. Outdoor chess! And the stakeis not without value, eh?""And if I win--" began Rainsfordhuskily."I'll cheerfully acknowledge myselfdefeat if I do not find you by midnight ofthe third day," said General Zaroff. "Mysloop will place you on the mainland near atown."The general read what Rainsfordwas thinking."Oh, you can trust me. I will giveyou my word as a gentleman and asportsman. Of course you, in turn, mustagree 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 why discuss that now? Three dayshence we can discuss it, unless--"8

Then a businesslike air animatedhim. "Ivan," he said, "will supply you withhunting clothes, food, a knife. I suggest youwear moccasins; they leave a poorer trail. Isuggest, too, that you avoid the big swampin the southeast corner of the island. Wecall it Death Swamp. There's quicksandthere. Well, I must beg you to excuse menow. I always' take a siesta after lunch.You'll hardly have time for a nap, I fear.You'll want to start, no doubt. I shall notfollow till dusk. Hunting at night is so muchmore exciting than by day, don't you think?Au revoir, Mr. Rainsford, au revoir."From another door came Ivan.Under one arm he carried khaki huntingclothes, a sack of food, a leather sheathcontaining a long-bladed hunting knife; hisright hand rested on a revolver in thecrimson sash about his waist.Rainsford had fought his waythrough the bush for two hours. "I mustkeep my nerve. I must keep my nerve," hesaid through tight teeth.He had not been entirelyclearheaded when the gates snapped shutbehind him. His whole idea at first was toput distance between himself and GeneralZaroff; and, to this end, he had plungedalong, spurred on by something very likepanic. Now he had got a grip on himself,had stopped, and was taking stock ofhimself and the situation.He saw that straight flight was futile;inevitably it would bring him face to facewith the sea. He was in a picture with aframe of water, and his operations, clearly,must take place within that frame."I'll give him a trail to follow,"muttered Rainsford, and he struck off fromthe rude path he had been following intothe trackless wilderness. He executed aseries of intricate loops; he doubled on histrail again and again, recalling all the lore ofthe fox hunt. Night found him leg-weary,with hands and face lashed by thebranches, on a thickly wooded ridge. Heknew it would be insane to blunder onthrough the dark, even if he had thestrength. His need for rest was imperativeand he thought, "I have played the fox, nowI must play the cat of the fable."A big tree with a thick trunk andoutspread branches was near by, and,taking care to leave not the slightest mark,he climbed up, stretching out on one of thebroad limbs, after a fashion, rested. Restbrought him new confidence and almost afeeling of security. Even General Zarof, hetold himself, could follow that complicatedtrail through the jungle after dark. Butperhaps…Night crawled slowly by like awounded snake, and sleep did not visitRainsford. Toward morning, the cry of somestartled bird focused Rainsford's attentionin that direction. Something was comingthrough the bush, coming slowly, carefully,coming by the same winding way Rainsfordhad come. He flattened himself down onthe limb and, through a screen of leaves, hewatched. The thing that was approachingwas a man.It was General Zaroff. He made hisway along with his eyes fixed in utmostconcentration on the ground before him.He paused, almost beneath the tree,dropped to his knees and studied theground. Rainsford's impulse was to hurlhimself down like a panther, but he sawthat the general's right hand heldsomething metallic--a small automaticpistol.The hunter shook his head severaltimes, as if he were puzzled. Then hestraightened up.9

Rainsford held his breath. Thegeneral's eyes had left the ground and weretraveling inch by inch up the tree. Rainsfordfroze there, every muscle tensed for aspring. But the sharp eyes of the hunterstopped before they reached the limbwhere Rainsford lay; a smile spread over hisface. Then he turned his back on the treeand walked carelessly away, back along thetrail he had come.The air burst hotly from Rainsford'slungs. His first thought made him feel sickand numb. The general could follow a trailthrough the woods at night; he could followan extremely difficult trail; he must haveuncanny powers; only by the merest chancehad he failed to see his quarry.Rainsford's second thought waseven more terrible. It sent a shudder of coldhorror through his whole being. Why hadthe general smiled? Why had he turnedback?Rainsford did not want to believewhat his reason told him was true, but thetruth was as evident as the sun that had bynow pushed through the morning mists.The general was playing with him! Thegeneral was saving him for another day'ssport! The Cossack was the cat; he was themouse. Then it was that Rainsford knew thefull meaning of terror."I will not lose my nerve. I will not."He slid down from the tree, andstruck off again into the woods. His facewas set and he forced his mind to function.Three hundred yards from his hiding placehe stopped where a huge dead tree leanedon a smaller, living one. Throwing off hissack of food, Rainsford took his knife fromits sheath and began to work with all hisenergy.The job was finished at last, and hethrew himself down behind a fallen log ahundred feet away. He did not have to waitlong. The cat was coming again to play withthe mouse.Following the trail with the surenessof a bloodhound came General Zaroff.Nothing escaped those searching blackeyes, no crushed blade of grass, no benttwig, no mark, no matter how faint, in themoss. So intent was the Cossack on hisstalking that he was upon the thingRainsford had made before he saw it. Hisfoot touched the protruding bough that wasthe trigger. Even as he touched it, thegeneral sensed his danger and leaped back.But he was not quite quick enough; thedead tree, delicately adjusted to rest on thecut living one, crashed down and struck thegeneral a glancing blow on the shoulder asit fell; but for his alertness, he must havebeen smashed beneath it. He staggered, buthe did not fall; nor did he drop his revolver.He stood there, rubbing his injuredshoulder, and Rainsford, with fear againgripping his heart, heard the general'smocking laugh ring through the jungle."Rainsford," called the general, "ifyou are within sound of my voice, as Isuppose you are, let me congratulate you.Not many men know how to make a Malaymancatcher. Luckily for me I, too, havehunted in Malacca. You are provinginteresting, Mr. Rainsford. I am going nowto have my wound dressed; it's only a slightone. But I shall be back. I shall be back."When the general, nursing hisbruised shoulder, had gone, Rainsford tookup his flight again. It was flight now, adesperate, hopeless flight, that carried himon for some hours. Dusk came, thendarkness, and still he pressed on. Theground grew softer under his moccasins;the vegetation grew ranker, denser; insectsbit him savagely. Then, as he stepped10

forward, his foot sank into the ooze. Hetried to wrench it back, but the mucksucked viciously at his foot. With a violenteffort, he tore his feet loose. He knewwhere he was now; Death Swamp and itsquicksand.The softness of the earth had givenhim an idea. He stepped back from thequicksand a dozen feet or so and, he beganto dig.The pit grew deeper; when it wasabove his shoulders, he climbed out andfrom some hard saplings cut stakes andsharpened them to a fine point. Thesestakes he planted in the bottom of the pitwith the points sticking up. With flyingfingers he wove a rough carpet of weedsand branches and with it he covered themouth of the pit. Then, wet with sweat andaching with tiredness, he crouched behindthe stump of a tree.He knew his pursuer was coming; heheard the padding sound of feet on the softearth. It seemed to Rainsford that thegeneral was coming with unusual swiftness;he was not feeling his way along, foot byfoot. Rainsford, crouching there, could notsee the general, nor could he see the pit. Helived a year in a minute. Then he felt animpulse to cry aloud with joy, for he heardthe sharp crackle of the breaking branchesas the cover of the pit gave way; he heardthe sharp scream of pain as the pointedstakes found their mark. He leaped up fromhis place of concealment. Then he coweredback. Three feet from the pit a man wasstanding."You've done well, Rainsford," thevoice of the general called. "Your Burmesetiger pit has claimed one of my best dogs.Again you score. I think, Mr. Rainsford, I’llsee what you can do against my wholepack. I'm going home for a rest now. Thankyou for a most amusing evening."At daybreak Rainsford, lying nearthe swamp, was awakened by a sound thatmade him know that he had new things tolearn about fear. It was a distant sound,faint and wavering, but he knew it. It wasthe baying of a pack of hounds.Rainsford knew he could do one oftwo things. He could stay where he was andwait. That was suicide. He could flee. For amoment he stood there, thinking. An ideathat held a wild chance came to him, and,tightening his belt, he headed away fromthe swamp.The baying of the hounds drewnearer, then still nearer, nearer, evernearer. On a ridge Rainsford climbed a tree.Down a watercourse, not a quarter of amile away, he could see the bush moving.Straining his eyes, he saw the lean figure ofGeneral Zaroff; just ahead of him Rainsfordmade out another figure whose wideshoulders surged through the tall jungleweeds; it was the giant Ivan, and he seemedpulled forward by some unseen force;Rainsford knew that Ivan must be holdingthe pack in leash.They would be on him any minutenow. His mind worked frantically. Hethought of a native trick he had learned inUganda. He slid down the tree. He caughthold of a springy young sapling and to it hefastened his hunting knife, with the bladepointing down the trail; with a bit of wildgrapevine he tied back the sapling. Then heran for his life. The hounds raised theirvoices as they hit the fresh scent. Rainsfordknew now how an animal at bay feels.He had to stop to get his breath. Thebaying of the hounds stopped abruptly, andRainsford's heart stopped too. They musthave reached the knife.11

He shinned excitedly up a tree andlooked back. His pursuers had stopped. Butthe hope that was in Rainsford's brain whenhe climbed died, for he saw in the shallowvalley that General Zaroff was still on hisfeet. But Ivan was not. The knife, driven bythe recoil of the springing tree, had notwholly failed.Rainsford had hardly tumbled to theground when the pack took up the cryagain."Nerve, nerve, nerve!" he panted, ashe dashed along. A blue gap showedbetween the trees dead ahead. Ever nearerdrew the hounds. Rainsford forced himselfon toward that gap. He reached it. It wasthe shore of the sea. Across a cove he couldsee the gray stone of the chateau. Twentyfeet below him the sea rumbled and hissed.Rainsford hesitated. He heard the hounds.Then he leaped far out into the sea. . . .When the general and his packreached the place by the sea, the Cossackstopped. For some minutes he stoodregarding the blue-green expanse of water.He shrugged his shoulders.General Zaroff had an exceedinglygood dinner in his dining hall that evening.Two slight annoyances kept him fromperfect enjoyment. One was the thoughtthat it would be difficult to replace Ivan; theother was that his quarry had escaped him;of course, the American hadn't played thegame--so thought the general. In his libraryhe read, to soothe himself. At ten he wentup to his bedroom. He locked himself in.There was a little moonlight, so, beforeturning on his light, he went to the windowand looked down at the courtyard. He couldsee the great hounds, and he called, "Betterluck another time," to them. Then heswitchedon the light.A man, who had been hiding in thecurtains of the bed, was standing there."Rainsford!" screamed the general."How did you get here?""Swam," said Rainsford. "I found itquicker than walking through the jungle."The general sucked in his breath andsmiled. "I congratulate you," he said. "Youhave won the game."Rainsford did not smile. "I am still abeast at bay," he said, in a low, hoarsevoice. "Get ready, General Zaroff."The general made one of hisdeepest bows. "I see," he said. "Splendid!One of us is to furnish a repast for thehounds. The other will sleep in this veryexcellent bed. On guard, Rainsford." . . .He had never slept in a better bed,Rainsford decided.12