Most dangerous game by Richard Connell part 8

[Red02102002]

   Then the general explained: “The hunting was not good last night. The fellow lost his head. He made a straight trait that offered no problems at all. That’s the trouble with these sailors; they do not know how to get about in the woods. They do stupid and obvious things. It’s most annoying.”
   “General,” said Rainsford firmly, “I wish to leave this island at once.”
   The general raised his thick eyebrows; he seemed hurt. “But, my dear fellow,” the general protested, “you’ve only just come. You’ve had no hunting—”
   “I wish to go today,” said Rainsford. He saw the dead black eyes of the general on him, studying him. General Zaroff’s face suddenly brightened.
   “Tonight,” said the general, “we will hunt—you and I.”
   Rainsford shook his head. “No, General,” he said. “I will not hunt.”
   The general shrugged his shoulders and dedicately ate a grape. “As you wish, my friend,” he said. “The choice rests entirely with you. But may I suggest that you will find my idea of sport more diverting than Ivan’s?”
   He nodded toward the corner to where the giant stood, scowling, his thick arms crossed on his chest.
   “You don’t mean—” cried Rainsford.
   “My dear fellow,” said the general, “have I not told you I always mean what I say about hunting? This is really an inspiration. I drink to a foe worthy of my steel—at last.”
   The general raised his glass, but Rainsford sat staring at him.
   “You’ll find this game worth playing,” the general said enthusiastically. “Your brain against mine. Your woodcraft against mine. Your strength and stamina against mine. Outdoor chess! And the stake is not without value, eh?”
   “And if I win—” began Rainsford huskily.
   “I’ll cheerfully acknowledge myself defeated if I do not find you by midnight of the third day,” said General Zaroff. “My sloop will place you on the mainland near a town.”
   The general read what Rainsford was thinking.
   “Oh, you can trust me. I will give you my word as a gentleman and a sportman. Of course you, in turn, must agree to say nothing of your visit here.”
   “I’ll agree to nothing of the kind,” said Rainsford.
   “Oh,” said the general, “in that case— But why discuss that now? Three days hence we can discuss it, unless—”
   Then a businesslike air animated him. “Ivan,” he said, “will supply you with hunting clothes, food, a knife. I suggest you wear moccasins; they leave a poorer trait. 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. Well, I must beg you to excuse me now. I always take a siesta 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? Au revoir, Mr, Rainsford, au revoir.”
   General Zaroff, with a deep, courtly bow, strolled from the room.
   From another door came Ivan. Under one arm he carried khaki hunting clothes, a sack of food, a leather sheath containing a longbladed hunting knife; his right hand rested on a revolver in the crimson sash about his waist….
   Rainsford had fought his way through the bush for two hours. “I must keep my nerve. I must keep my nerve,” he said through tight teeth.