"A new animal? You're joking." "Not at all," said the general. "I never joke about hunting. I 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--"
"But the animal, General Zaroff?"
"Oh," said the general, "it supplies me with the most exciting hunting in the world. No other 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.
"I wanted the ideal animal to hunt," explained the general. "So I said, `What are the attributes of an
ideal quarry?' And the answer was, of course, `It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must
be able to reason."'
"But no animal can reason," objected Rainsford.
"My dear fellow," said the general, "there is one that can."
"But you can't mean--" gasped Rainsford.
"And why not?"
"I can't believe you are serious, General Zaroff. This is a grisly joke."
"Why should I not be serious? I am speaking of hunting."
"Hunting? Great Guns, General Zaroff, what you speak of is murder."
The general laughed with entire good nature. He regarded Rainsford quizzically. "I refuse to believe
that so modern and civilized a young man as you seem to be harbors romantic ideas about the value
of human life. Surely your experiences in the war--."
"Did not make me condone cold-blooded murder," finished Rainsford stiffly.
Laughter shook the general. "How extraordinarily droll you are!" he said. "One does not expect
nowadays to find a young man of the educated class, even in America, with such a naive, and, if I
may say so, mid-Victorian point of view. It's like finding a snuffbox in a limousine. Ah, well,
doubtless you had Puritan ancestors. So many Americans appear to have had. I'll wager you'll forget
your notions when you go hunting with me. You've a genuine new thrill in store for you, Mr.
Rainsford."
"Thank you, I'm a hunter, not a murderer."
"Dear me," said the general, quite unruffled, "again that unpleasant word. But I think I can show you
that your scruples are quite ill founded."
"Yes?"
"Life is for the strong, to be lived by the strong, and, if needs be, taken by the strong. The weak of
the world were put here to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. Why should I not use my gift? If I
wish to hunt, why should I not? I hunt the scum of the earth: sailors from tramp ships--lassars,
blacks, Chinese, whites, mongrels--a thoroughbred horse or hound is worth more than a score of
them."
"But they are men," said Rainsford hotly.
"Precisely," said the general. "That is why I use them. It gives me pleasure. They can reason, after a
fashion. So they are dangerous."
"But where do you get them?"
The general's left eyelid fluttered down in a wink. "This island is called Ship Trap," he answered.
"Sometimes an angry god of the high seas sends them to me. Sometimes, when Providence is not so
kind, I help Providence a bit. Come to the window with me."
Rainsford went to the window and looked out toward the sea.
"Watch! Out there!" exclaimed the general, pointing into the night. Rainsford's eyes saw only
blackness, and then, as the general pressed a button, far out to sea Rainsford saw the flash of lights.
The general chuckled. "They indicate a channel," he said, "where there's none; giant rocks with razor
edges crouch like a sea monster with wide-open jaws. They can crush a ship as easily as I crush this
nut." He dropped a walnut on the hardwood floor and brought his heel grinding down on it. "Oh,
yes," he said, casually, as if in answer to a question, "I have electricity. We try to be civilized here."
"Civilized? And you shoot down men?"
A trace of anger was in the general's black eyes, but it was there for but a second; and he said, in his
most pleasant manner, "Dear me, what a righteous young man you are! I assure you I do not do the
thing you suggest. That would be barbarous. I treat these visitors with every consideration. They get
plenty of good food and exercise. They get into splendid physical condition. You shall see for
yourself tomorrow."
"What do you mean?"
"We'll visit my training school," smiled the general. "It's in the cellar. I have about a dozen pupils
down there now. They're from the Spanish bark San Lucar that had the bad luck to go on the rocks
out there. A very inferior lot, I regret to say. Poor specimens and more accustomed to the deck than
to the jungle." He raised his hand, and Ivan, who served as waiter, brought thick Turkish coffee.
Rainsford, with an effort, held his tongue in check.
"It's a game, you see," pursued the general blandly. "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 of the smallest caliber and range. If my quarry eludes me for three whole
days, he wins the game. If I find him "--the general smiled--" he loses."
"Suppose 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. Ivan once had the honor of serving as
official knouter to the Great White Czar, and he has his own ideas of sport. 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. Many of them afford only the most elementary
sort of problem. Occasionally I strike a tartar. 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."
He hummed a snatch of song from the Folies Bergere.
"And now," said the general, "I want to show you my new collection of heads. 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 well."
"Ah, indeed?" the general inquired solicitously. "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 rather 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,
black. 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 the opiate of sleep. He lay, eyes wide open.
Once he thought he heard stealthy 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 sallow moon, and by its wan 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, expectantly, 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, the faint report of a pistol.
General Zaroff did not appear until luncheon. He was dressed faultlessly in the tweeds of a country
squire. 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, "Ennui. Boredom."
Then, taking a second helping of crêpes Suzette, the general explained: "The hunting was not good
last night. The fellow lost his head. He made a straight trail that offered no problems at all. That's the
trouble with these sailors; they have dull brains to begin with, and they do not know how to get
about in the woods. They do excessively stupid and obvious things. It's most annoying. Will you
have another glass of Chablis, Mr. Rainsford?"
"General," said Rainsford firmly, "I wish to leave this island at once."
The general raised his thickets of 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.
He filled Rainsford's glass with venerable Chablis from a dusty bottle.
"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 delicately ate a hothouse grape. "As you wish, my friend," he
said. "The choice rests entirely with you. But may I not venture to 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
hogshead of 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 foeman 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 defeat 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," said the Cossack. "I will give you my word as a gentleman and a sportsman.
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
over a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, unless--."
The general sipped his wine.
Then a businesslike air animated him. "Ivan," he said to Rainsford, "will supply 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 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 haversack of
food, a leather sheath containing a long-bladed hunting knife; his right hand rested on a cocked
revolver thrust 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.
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 the sharp rowers of something very like 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.
"I'll give him a trail to follow," muttered Rainsford, and he struck off from the rude 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, "I have played the fox, now I must play the cat of the fable." A big tree
with a thick trunk and outspread branches was near by, and, taking 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.
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.
"I will not lose my nerve. I will not."
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
took his knife from its sheath and 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, no matter how faint, in the
moss. So intent was the Cossack on his stalking that he was upon the thing Rainsford had made
before he saw it. His foot touched the protruding bough that was the trigger. Even as he touched it,
the general sensed his danger and leaped back with the agility of an ape. But he was not quite quick
enough; the dead tree, delicately adjusted to rest on the cut living one, crashed down and struck the
general a glancing blow on the shoulder as it fell; but for his alertness, he must have been smashed
beneath it. He staggered, but he did not fall; nor did he drop his revolver. He stood there, rubbing
his injured shoulder, and Rainsford, with fear again gripping his heart, heard the general's mocking
laugh ring through the jungle.
"Rainsford," called the general, "if you are within sound of my voice, as I suppose you are, let me
congratulate you. Not many men know how to make a Malay mancatcher. Luckily for me I, too,
have hunted in Malacca. You are proving interesting, Mr. Rainsford. I am going now to have my
wound dressed; it's only a slight one. But I shall be back. I shall be back."
When the general, nursing his bruised shoulder, had gone, Rainsford took up his flight again. It was
flight now, a desperate, hopeless flight, that carried him on for some hours. Dusk came, then
darkness, and still he pressed on. The ground grew softer under his moccasins; the vegetation grew
ranker, denser; insects bit him savagely.
Then, as he stepped forward, his foot sank into the ooze. He tried to wrench it back, but the muck
sucked viciously at his foot as if it were a giant leech. With a violent effort, he tore his feet loose. He
knew where he was now. Death Swamp and its quicksand.
His hands were tight closed as if his nerve were something tangible that someone in the darkness
was trying to tear from his grip. The softness of the earth had given him an idea. He stepped back
from the quicksand a dozen feet or so and, like some huge prehistoric beaver, he began to dig.
Rainsford had dug himself in in France when a second's delay meant death. That had been a placid
pastime compared to his digging now. The pit grew deeper; when it was above his shoulders, he
climbed out and from some hard saplings cut stakes and sharpened them to a fine point. These
stakes he planted in the bottom of the pit with the points sticking up. With flying fingers he wove a
rough carpet of weeds and branches and with it he covered the mouth of the pit. Then, wet with
sweat and aching with tiredness, he crouched behind the stump of a lightning-charred tree.
He knew his pursuer was coming; he heard the padding sound of feet on the soft earth, and the night
breeze brought him the perfume of the general's cigarette. It seemed to Rainsford that the general
was coming with unusual swiftness; he was not feeling his way along, foot by foot. Rainsford,
crouching there, could not see the general, nor could he see the pit. He lived a year in a minute. Then
he felt an impulse to cry aloud with joy, for he heard the sharp crackle of the breaking branches as
the cover of the pit gave way; he heard the sharp scream of pain as the pointed stakes found their
mark. He leaped up from his place of concealment. Then he cowered back. Three feet from the pit a
man was standing, with an electric torch in his hand.
"You've done well, Rainsford," the voice of the general called. "Your Burmese tiger pit has claimed
one of my best dogs. Again you score. I think, Mr. Rainsford, I'll see what you can do against my
whole pack. I'm going home for a rest now. Thank you for a most amusing evening."
At daybreak Rainsford, lying near the swamp, was awakened by a sound that made him know that
he had new things to learn about fear. It was a distant sound, faint and wavering, but he knew it. It
was the baying of a pack of hounds.
Rainsford knew he could do one of two things. He could stay where he was and wait. That was
suicide. He could flee. That was postponing the inevitable. For a moment he stood there, thinking.
An idea that held a wild chance came to him, and, tightening his belt, he headed away from the
swamp.
The baying of the hounds drew nearer, then still nearer, nearer, ever nearer. On a ridge Rainsford
climbed a tree. Down a watercourse, not a quarter of a mile away, he could see the bush moving.
Straining his eyes, he saw the lean figure of General Zaroff; just ahead of him Rainsford made out
another figure whose wide shoulders surged through the tall jungle weeds; it was the giant Ivan, and
he seemed pulled forward by some unseen force; Rainsford knew that Ivan must be holding the
pack in leash.
They would be on him any minute now. His mind worked frantically. He thought of a native trick he
had learned in Uganda. He slid down the tree. He caught hold of a springy young sapling and to it he
fastened his hunting knife, with the blade pointing down the trail; with a bit of wild grapevine he tied
back the sapling. Then he ran for his life. The hounds raised their voices as they hit the fresh scent.
Rainsford knew now how an animal at bay feels.
He had to stop to get his breath. The baying of the hounds stopped abruptly, and Rainsford's heart
stopped too. They must have reached the knife.
He shinned excitedly up a tree and looked back. His pursuers had stopped. But the hope that was in
Rainsford's brain when he climbed died, for he saw in the shallow valley that General Zaroff was still
on his feet. But Ivan was not. The knife, driven by the recoil of the springing tree, had not wholly
failed.
Rainsford had hardly tumbled to the ground when the pack took up the cry again.
"Nerve, nerve, nerve!" he panted, as he dashed along. A blue gap showed between the trees dead
ahead. Ever nearer drew the hounds. Rainsford forced himself on toward that gap. He reached it. It
was the shore of the sea. Across a cove he could see the gloomy gray stone of the chateau. Twenty
feet below him the sea rumbled and hissed. Rainsford hesitated. He heard the hounds. Then he
leaped far out into the sea...
When the general and his pack reached the place by the sea, the Cossack stopped. For some
minutes he stood regarding the blue-green expanse of water. He shrugged his shoulders. Then be sat
down, took a drink of brandy from a silver flask, lit a cigarette, and hummed a bit from Madame
Butterfly.
General Zaroff had an exceedingly good dinner in his great paneled dining hall that evening. With it
he had a bottle of Pol Roger and half a bottle of Chambertin. Two slight annoyances kept him from
perfect enjoyment. One was the thought that it would be difficult to replace Ivan; the other was that
his quarry had escaped him; of course, the American hadn't played the game--so thought the general
as he tasted his after-dinner liqueur. In his library he read, to soothe himself, from the works of
Marcus Aurelius. At ten he went up to his bedroom. He was deliciously tired, he said to himself, as
he locked himself in. There was a little moonlight, so, before turning on his light, he went to the
window and looked down at the courtyard. He could see the great hounds, and he called, "Better
luck another time," to them. Then he switched on the light.
A man, who had been hiding in the curtains of the bed, was standing there.
"Rainsford!" screamed the general. "How in God's name did you get here?"
"Swam," said Rainsford. "I found it quicker than walking through the jungle."
The general sucked in his breath and smiled. "I congratulate you," he said. "You have won the
game."
Rainsford did not smile. "I am still a beast at bay," he said, in a low, hoarse voice. "Get ready,
General Zaroff."
The general made one of his deepest bows. "I see," he said. "Splendid! One of us is to furnish as a
repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Rainsford..."
Later, Rainsford decided that he had never slept in a better bed.