Short Story: The Most Dangerous Game

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