Short Story: The Most Dangerous Game

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