Most dangerous game by Richard Connell part 7

[Red02102002]

   “It’s a game, you see,” purpued the general. “I suggest to one of them that we go hunting. I give him a supply of food and an excellent hunting knife. I give him three hours’ start. I am to follow, armed only with a pistol. If my quarry eludes me for three whole days, he wins the game. If I find him”—the general smiled—“he loses.”
   “Supposed he refuses to be hunted?”
   “Oh,” said the general, “I give him his option, of course. He need not play that game if he doesn’t wish to. If he does not wish to hunt, I turn him over to Ivan. Invariably, Mr. Rainsford, invariably they choose the hunt.”
   “And if they win?”
   The smile on the general’s face widened. “To date I have not lost,” he said.
   Then he added, hastily: “I don’t wish you to think me a braggart, Mr. Rainsford. One almost did win. I eventually had to use the dogs.”
   “The dogs?”
   “This way, please. I’ll show you.”
   The general steered Rainsford to a window. The lights from the windows sent a flickering illumination that made grotesque patterns on the courtyard below, and Rainsford could see moving about there a dozen or so huge black shapes; as they turned toward him, their eyes glittered greenly.
   “A rather good lot, I think,” observed the general. “They are let out at seven every night. If anyone should try to get into my house—or out of it—something extremely regrettable would occur to him. And now, will you come with me to the library?”
   “I hope,” said Rainsford, “that you will excuse me tonight, General Zaroff. I’m really not feeling at all well.”
   “Ah, indeed?” the general inquired. “Well, I suppose that’s only natural, after your long swim. You need a good, restful night’s sleep. Tomorrow you’ll feel like a new man, I’ll wager. Then we’ll hunt, eh? I’ve one promising prospect—”
   Rainsford was hurrying from the room. “Sorry you can’t go with me tonight,” called the general. “I expect rather fair sport—a big, strong fellow. He looks resourceful—Well, good night, Mr. Rainsford; I hope you have a good night’s rest.”
   The bed was good, and the pajamas of the softest silk and he was tired in every fiber of his being, but nevertheless, Rainsford could not quiet his brain with sleep. He laid, eyes wide open. Once, he thought he heard steps in the corridor outside his room. He sought to throw open the door; it would not open. He went to the window and looked out. His room was high up in one of the towers. The lights of the chateau were out now, and it was dark and silent, but there was a fragment of moon, and by its light he could see, dimly, the courtyard; there, weaving in and out in the pattern of shadow, were black, noiseless forms; the hounds heard him at the window and looked up, with their green eyes. Rainsford went back to the bed and lay down. By many methods he tried to put himself to sleep. He had achieved a doze when, just as morning began to come, he heard, far off in the jungle, a pistol.
   General Zaroff did not appear until luncheon. He was dressed faultlessly. He was solicitous about the state of Rainsford’s health.
   “As for me,” sighed the general, “I do not feel so well. I am worried, Mr. Rainsford. Last night I detected traces of my old complaint.”
   To Rainsford’s questioning glance the general said: “Boredom.”