-
The Most Dangerous Game
by
Richard Connell
have a
curious dread of the place. I don't know why. Some
superstition--
palpable as it
pressed its thick warm blackness in upon the
yacht.
the brown fall bush
at four hundred yards, but even you can't see four
miles or so through a
moonless
Caribbean
night.
jaguar guns
have come from Purdey's. We should have some good
hunting up the Amazon. Great
sport, hun
ting.
c
ares how a jaguar feels?
world is made up of
two classes--the hunters and the huntees. Luckily,
you and I are hunters. Do
you think
we've passed that island yet?
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lore, somehow. Didn't you
notice that the crew's nerves seemed a bit jumpy
today?
light.
Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never saw
there before. All I could get out of him was
`This place has an evil name among
seafaring men, sir.' Then he said to me, very
gravely, `Don't
you feel anything?'--as
if the air about us was actually poisonous. Now,
you mustn't laugh when I
tell you this
--I did feel something like a sudden chill.
island then. What I felt was
a--a mental chill; a sort of sudden dread.
< br>
danger.
Sometimes I think evil is a tangible thing--with
wave lengths, just as sound and light
have. An evil place can, so to speak,
broadcast vibrations of evil. Anyhow, I'm glad
we're getting
out of this zone. Well, I
think I'll turn in now, Rainsford.
There was no sound in
the night as Rainsford sat there but the muffled
throb of the engine that
drove the
yacht swiftly through the darkness, and the swish
and ripple of the wash of the
propeller.
Rainsford,
reclining in a steamer chair, indolently puffed on
his favorite brier. The sensuous
drowsiness of the night was on
him.
my eyes; the night would be my
eyelids--
An abrupt sound startled him.
Off to the right he heard it, and his ears, expert
in such matters,
could not be mistaken.
Again he heard the sound, and again. Somewhere,
off in the blackness,
someone had fired
a gun three times.
Rainsford sprang up
and moved quickly to the rail, mystified. He
strained his eyes in the
direction from
which the reports had come, but it was like trying
to see through a blanket. He
leaped
upon the rail and balanced himself there, to get
greater elevation; his pipe, striking a rope,
was knocked from his mouth. He lunged
for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as
he
realized he had reached too far and
had lost his balance. The cry was pinched off
short as the
blood-warm waters of the
Caribbean Sea dosed over his head.
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He struggled up to the
surface and tried to cry out, but the wash from
the speeding yacht slapped
him in the
face and the salt water in his open mouth made him
gag and strangle. Desperately he
struck
out with strong strokes after the receding lights
of the yacht, but he stopped before he had
swum fifty feet. A certain
coolheadedness had come to him; it was not the
first time he had been
in a tight
place. There was a chance that his cries could be
heard by someone aboard the yacht,
but
that chance was slender and grew more slender as
the yacht raced on. He wrestled himself
out of his clothes and shouted with all
his power. The lights of the yacht became faint
and ever-
vanishing fireflies; then they
were blotted out entirely by the night.
Rainsford remembered the shots. They
had come from the right, and doggedly he swam in
that
direction, swimming with slow,
deliberate strokes, conserving his strength. For a
seemingly
endless time he fought the
sea. He began to count his strokes; he could do
possibly a hundred
more and then--
Rainsford heard a sound. It came out of
the darkness, a high screaming sound, the sound of
an
animal in an extremity of anguish
and terror.
He did not recognize the
animal that made the sound; he did not try to;
with fresh vitality he
swam toward the
sound. He heard it again; then it was cut short by
another noise, crisp, staccato.
Ten minutes of determined
effort brought another sound to his ears--the most
welcome he had
ever heard--the
muttering and growling of the sea breaking on a
rocky shore. He was almost on
the rocks
before he saw them; on a night less calm he would
have been shattered against them.
With
his remaining strength he dragged himself from the
swirling waters. Jagged crags appeared
to jut up into the opaqueness; he
forced himself upward, hand over hand. Gasping,
his hands raw,
he reached a flat place
at the top. Dense jungle came down to the very
edge of the cliffs. What
perils that
tangle of trees and underbrush might hold for him
did not concern Rainsford just then.
All he knew was that he was safe from
his enemy, the sea, and that utter weariness was
on him.
He flung himself down at the
jungle edge and tumbled headlong into the deepest
sleep of his life.
When he opened his
eyes he knew from the position of the sun that it
was late in the afternoon.
Sleep had
given him new vigor; a sharp hunger was picking at
him. He looked about him, almost
cheerfully.
what
kind of men, he wondered, in so forbidding a
place? An unbroken front of snarled and
ragged jungle fringed the shore.
He saw no sign of a trail through the
closely knit web of weeds and trees; it was easier
to go
along the shore, and Rainsford
floundered along by the water. Not far from where
he landed, he
stopped.
Some
wounded thing--by the evidence, a large animal--
had thrashed about in the underbrush; the
jungle weeds were crushed down and the
moss was lacerated; one patch of weeds was stained
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crimson. A
small, glittering object not far away caught
Rainsford's eye and he picked it up. It
was an empty cartridge.
hunter had his nerve with
him to tackle it with a light gun. It's clear that
the brute put up a fight. I
suppose the
first three shots I heard was when the hunter
flushed his quarry and wounded it. The
last shot was when he trailed it here
and finished it.
He examined the ground
closely and found what he had hoped to find--the
print of hunting boots.
They pointed
along the cliff in the direction he had been
going. Eagerly he hurried along, now
slipping on a rotten log or a loose
stone, but making headway; night was beginning to
settle
down on the island.
Bleak darkness was blacking out the sea
and jungle when Rainsford sighted the lights. He
came
upon them as he turned a crook in
the coast line; and his first thought was that be
had come upon
a village, for there were
many lights. But as he forged along he saw to his
great astonishment that
all the lights
were in one enormous building--a lofty structure
with pointed towers plunging
upward
into the gloom. His eyes made out the shadowy
outlines of a palatial chateau; it was set
on a high bluff, and on three sides of
it cliffs dived down to where the sea licked
greedy lips in
the shadows.
iron gate. The stone steps
were real enough; the massive door with a leering
gargoyle for a
knocker was real enough;
yet above it all hung an air of unreality.
He lifted the knocker, and it creaked
up stiffly, as if it had never before been used.
He let it fall,
and it startled him
with its booming loudness. He thought he heard
steps 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 a spring--and
Rainsford stood blinking in the river of glaring
gold light that poured out. The first
thing Rainsford's eyes discerned was the largest
man
Rainsford had ever seen--a gigantic
creature, solidly made and black bearded to the
waist. In his
hand the man held a long-
barreled revolver, and he was pointing it straight
at Rainsford's heart.
Out of the snarl
of beard two small eyes regarded Rainsford.
I fell off a yacht. My name
is Sanger Rainsford of New York
City.
The menacing look in the eyes did
not change. The revolver pointing as rigidly as if
the giant
were a statue. He gave no
sign that he understood Rainsford's words, or that
he had even heard
them. He was dressed
in uniform--a black uniform trimmed with gray
astrakhan.
The man's only
answer was to raise with his thumb the hammer of
his revolver. Then Rainsford
saw the
man's free hand go to his forehead in a military
salute, and he saw him click his heels
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together and
stand at attention. Another man was coming down
the broad marble steps, an erect,
slender man in evening clothes. He
advanced to Rainsford and held out his hand.
In a cultivated voice marked by a
slight accent that gave it added precision and
deliberateness, he
said,
hunter, to my
home.
Automatically Rainsford shook the
man's hand.
General
Zaroff.
Rainsford's first impression was
that the man was singularly handsome; his second
was that there
was an original, almost
bizarre quality about the general's face. He was a
tall man past middle
age, for his hair
was a vivid white; but his thick eyebrows and
pointed military mustache were as
black
as the night from which Rainsford had come. His
eyes, too, were black and very bright. He
had high cheekbones, a sharpcut nose, a
spare, dark face--the face of a man used to giving
orders,
the face of an aristocrat.
Turning to the giant in uniform, the general made
a sign. The giant put
away his pistol,
saluted, withdrew.
and dumb.
A simple fellow, but, I'm afraid, like all his
race, a bit of a savage.
rest. You shall have them. This
is a most-restful spot.
Ivan had
reappeared, and the general spoke to him with lips
that moved but gave forth no sound.
when you came. I'll wait for
you. You'll find that my clothes will fit you, I
think.
It was to a huge, beam-ceilinged
bedroom with a canopied bed big enough for six men
that
Rainsford followed the silent
giant. Ivan laid out an evening suit, and
Rainsford, as he put it on,
noticed
that it came from a London tailor who ordinarily
cut and sewed for none below the rank
of duke.
The dining room to
which Ivan conducted him was in many ways
remarkable. There was a
medieval
magnificence about it; it suggested a baronial
hall of feudal times with its oaken panels,
its high ceiling, its vast refectory
tables where twoscore men could sit down to eat.
About the
hall were mounted heads of
many animals--lions, tigers, elephants, moose,
bears; larger or more
perfect specimens
Rainsford had never seen. At the great table the
general was sitting, alone.
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Rainsford noted,
the table apointments were of the finest--the
linen, the crystal, the silver, the
china.
They were eating
borsch
, the rich, red soup
with whipped cream so dear to Russian palates.
Half
apologetically General Zaroff
said,
Please forgive any lapses. We are
well off the beaten track, you know. Do you think
the
champagne has suffered from its
long ocean trip?
host, a true
cosmopolite. But there was one small trait of .the
general's that made Rainsford
uncomfortable. Whenever he looked up
from his plate he found the general studying him,
appraising him narrowly.
all books on hunting
published in English, French, and Russian. I have
but one passion in my life,
Mr.
Rainsford, and it is the
hunt.
filet
mignon
.
game.
For a moment the general did not reply; he was
smiling his curious red-lipped smile. Then he
said slowly,
sipped his
wine.
more dangerous
game.
Rainsford expressed his surprise.
The general nodded.
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The general smiled.
exhausted their possibilities, you see.
No thrill left in tigers, no real danger. I live
for danger, Mr.
Rainsford.
The general took
from his pocket a gold cigarette case and offered
his guest a long black
cigarette with a
silver tip; it was perfumed and gave off a smell
like incense.
your
society.
that I
have done a rare thing. I have invented a new
sensation. May I pour you another glass of
port?
The general
filled both glasses, and said,
some
beggars. Me He made a hunter. My hand was made for
the trigger, my father said. He was
a
very rich man with a quarter of a million acres in
the Crimea, and he was an ardent sportsman.
When I was only five years old he gave
me a little gun, specially made in Moscow for me,
to
shoot sparrows with. When I shot
some of his prize turkeys with it, he did not
punish me; he
complimented me on my
marksmanship. I killed my first bear in the
Caucasus when I was ten.
My whole life
has been one prolonged hunt. I went into the army
--it was expected of noblemen's
sons--
and for a time commanded a division of Cossack
cavalry, but my real interest was always
the hunt. I have hunted every kind of
game in every land. It would be impossible for me
to tell
you how many animals I have
killed.
The general puffed at his
cigarette.
stay there. Many
noble Russians lost everything. I, luckily, had
invested heavily in American
securities, so I shall never have to
open a tearoom in Monte Carlo or drive a taxi in
Paris.
Naturally, I continued to hunt--
grizzliest in your Rockies, crocodiles in the
Ganges, rhinoceroses
in East Africa. It
was in Africa that the Cape buffalo hit me and
laid me up for six months. As
soon as I
recovered I started for the Amazon to hunt
jaguars, for I had heard they were unusually
cunning. They weren't.
wits
about him, and a high-powered rifle. I was
bitterly disappointed. I was lying in my tent with
a splitting headache one night when a
terrible thought pushed its way into my mind.
Hunting was
beginning to bore me! And
hunting, remember, had been my life. I have heard
that in America
businessmen often go to
pieces when they give up the business that has
been their life.
The general
smiled.
an analytical mind, Mr.
Rainsford. Doubtless that is why I enjoy the
problems of the chase.
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much younger than
I am, Mr. Rainsford, and have not hunted as much,
but you perhaps can
guess the
answer.
easy. I
always got my quarry. Always. There is no greater
bore than perfection.
The general lit a
fresh cigarette.
animal had
nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is
no match for reason. When I thought
of
this it was a tragic moment for me, I can tell
you.
Rainsford leaned across the table,
absorbed in what his host was saying.
The general
smiled the quiet smile of one who has faced an
obstacle and surmounted it with
success.
needed a
new animal. I found one. So I bought this island
built this house, and here I do my
hunting. The island is perfect for my
purposes--there are jungles with a maze of traits
in them,
hills,
swamps--
hunting
compares with it for an instant. Every day I hunt,
and I never grow bored now, for I have
a quarry with which I can match my
wits.
Rainsford's bewilderment showed in
his face.
an ideal quarry?'
And the answer was, of course, `It must have
courage, cunning, and, above all,
it
must be able to
reason.
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