原文The Most Dangerous Game

The Most Dangerous Game

by Richard Connell

The general raised his eyebrows; he seemed hurt.

protested,

go today,

him, studying him. General Zaroff's face suddenly brightened.

Rainsford shook his head.

The general shrugged his shoulders and delicately.

with

you.

But

may

I not

venture to

suggest

that

you will

find my idea of sport more interesting than Ivan's?

He

nodded

toward

the

corner

to

where

the

giant

stood,

scowling,

his

thick

arms

crossed on his hogshead of chest.

dear

fellow,

said

the

general,

I

not

told

you

I

always

mean

what

I

say

about

hunting?

This

is

really

an

inspiration..

The

general

raised

his

glass,

but

Rainsford sat staring at him.

against mine. Your woodcraft against mine. Your strength and stamina against mine.

Outdoor chess! And the stake is not without value, eh?

day,

general read what Rainsford was thinking.

and a sportsman. Of course you, in turn, must agree to say nothing of your visit here.

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The general sipped his wine. Then in a businesslike air, he went on,

you with hunting clothes, food, a knife. I suggest you wear moccasins; they leave a

poorer trail. I suggest, too, that you avoid the big swamp in the southeast corner of the

island. We call it Death Swamp. There's quicksand there. One foolish fellow tried it.

The deplorable part of it was that Lazarus followed him. You can imagine my feelings,

Mr. Rainsford. I loved Lazarus; he was the finest hound in my pack. Well, I must beg

you to excuse me now. I always' take a nap after lunch. You'll hardly have time for a

nap, I fear. You'll want to start, no doubt. I shall not follow till dusk. Hunting at night

is so much more exciting than by day, don't you think? General Zaroff, with a deep,

courtly bow, strolled from the room.

Rainsford had fought his way through the bush for two hours.

I must keep my nerve,

He had not been entirely clearheaded when the chateau gates snapped shut behind him.

His whole idea at first was to put distance between himself and General Zaroff; and,

to this end, he had plunged along, spurred on by a sharp feeling of panic. Now he had

got a grip on himself, had stopped, and was taking stock of himself and the situation.

He saw that straight flight was futile; inevitably it would bring him face to face with

the sea. He was in a picture with a frame of water, and his operations, clearly, must

take place within that frame.

path

he

had

been

following

into

the

trackless

wilderness.

He

executed

a

series

of

intricate loops; he doubled on his trail again and again, recalling all the lore of the fox

hunt, and all the dodges of the fox. Night found him leg-weary, with hands and face

lashed

by

the

branches,

on

a

thickly

wooded

ridge.

He

knew

it

would

be

insane

to

blunder

on

through

the

dark,

even

if

he

had

the

strength.

His

need

for

rest

was

imperative

and

he

thought,

have

played

the

fox,

now

I

must

play

the

cat

of

the

fable.

care to leave not the slightest mark, he climbed up into the crotch, and, stretching out

on one of the broad limbs, after a fashion, rested. Rest brought him new confidence

and almost a feeling of security. Even so zealous a hunter as General Zaroff could not

trace him there, he told himself; only the devil himself could follow that complicated

trail through the jungle after dark. But perhaps the general was a devil--

An apprehensive night crawled slowly by like a wounded snake and sleep did not visit

Rainsford, although the silence of a dead world was on the jungle. Toward morning

when

a

dingy

gray

was

varnishing

the

sky,

the

cry

of

some

startled

bird

focused

Rainsford's

attention

in

that

direction.

Something

was

coming

through

the

bush,

coming slowly, carefully, coming by the same winding way Rainsford had come. He

flattened himself down on the limb and, through a screen of leaves almost as thick as

tapestry, he watched. . . . That which was approaching was a man.

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It

was

General

Zaroff.

He

made

his

way

along

with

his

eyes

fixed

in

utmost

concentration on the ground before him. He paused, almost beneath the tree, dropped

to

his

knees

and

studied

the

ground.

Rainsford's

impulse

was

to

hurl

himself

down

like

a

panther,

but

he

saw

that

the

general's

right

hand

held

something

metallic--a

small automatic pistol.

The hunter shook his head several times, as if he were puzzled. Then he straightened

up and took from his case one of his black cigarettes; its pungent incenselike smoke

floated up to Rainsford's nostrils.

Rainsford held his breath. The general's eyes had left the ground and were traveling

inch by inch up the tree. Rainsford froze there, every muscle tensed for a spring. But

the sharp eyes of the hunter stopped before they reached the limb where Rainsford lay;

a smile spread over his brown face. Very deliberately he blew a smoke ring into the

air; then he turned his back on the tree and walked carelessly away, back along the

trail he had come. The swish of the underbrush against his hunting boots grew fainter

and fainter.

The pent-up air burst hotly from Rainsford's lungs. His first thought made him feel

sick and numb. The general could follow a trail through the woods at night; he could

follow an extremely difficult trail; he must have uncanny powers; only by the merest

chance had the Cossack failed to see his quarry.

Rainsford's second thought was

even more terrible. It sent a shudder of cold horror

through his whole being. Why had the general smiled? Why had he turned back?

Rainsford did not want to believe what his reason told him was true, but the truth was

as evident as the sun that had by now pushed through the morning mists. The general

was

playing

with

him!

The

general

was

saving

him

for

another

day's

sport!

The

Cossack

was

the

cat;

he

was

the

mouse.

Then

it

was

that

Rainsford

knew

the

full

meaning of terror.

He slid down from the tree, and struck off again into the woods. His face was set and

he forced the machinery of his mind to function. Three hundred yards from his hiding

place he stopped where a huge dead tree leaned precariously on a smaller, living one.

Throwing off his sack of food, Rainsford began to work with all his energy.

The job was finished at last, and he threw himself down behind a fallen log a hundred

feet away. He did not have to wait long. The cat was coming again to play with the

mouse.

Following the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound came General Zaroff. Nothing

escaped those searching black eyes, no crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark,

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