Short Story: The Most Dangerous Game

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