Short Story: The Most Dangerous Game

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"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
Page 1: The Most Dangerous GameBy Richard C
Page 5 and 6: Rainsford noted the tableappointmen
Page 7 and 8: "Civilized? And you shoot downmen?"
Page 9 and 10: Then a businesslike air animatedhim
Page 11 and 12: forward, his foot sank into the ooz

Short Story: The Most Dangerous Game

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