Prey of Shadows

It's somewhat of a mystery, but there's a big island over there to the right, someplace," remarked Whitney.

Rainsford enquired, "What island is it?"

A provocative name, isn't it? Sailors have a peculiar phobia of the location. I don't know why. Some superstition--" Whitney said. "The ancient maps call it 'Ship-Trap Island.'"

"Can't see it," Rainsford said, attempting to see through the thick, warm darkness of the tropical night that was pressing down upon the yacht.

Whitney laughed and added, "You've got good eyes. I've seen you kill a moose moving in the brown fall bush at 400 yards, but even you can't see more than four miles through a moonless Caribbean night."

Nor four yards, Rainsford acknowledged. It reminds me of wet black velvet, ugh.

Rio would have ample light, Whitney assured. "I hope the jaguar guns have arrived from Purdey's. We should have some good hunting up the Amazon. Great sport, hunting," said the traveler.

It's "the best sport in the world," Rainsford concurred.

"For the hunter," Whitney clarified. For the Jaguar, no.

"Don't talk rot, Whitney," Rainsford said. "Who cares how a jaguar feels? You're a big-game hunter, not a philosopher," someone said.

Maybe the jaguar does," Whitney said.

"Bah! They have no comprehension."

However, I believe that kids do grasp fear—both the dread of pain and the fear of death.

Rainsford chuckled, "Nonsense. Do you suppose we've passed that island yet? "This hot weather is making you soft, Whitney. Be a realist. The world is made up of two classes—the hunters and the huntees. Fortunately, you and I are hunters.

"I hope so, but I can't tell in the dark."

Rainsford questioned, "Why?

The location has a negative reputation.

"Cannibals?" Rainsford questioned.

The crew's nerves were a little jumpy today, didn't you notice? "Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn't live in such a God-forsaken place. But it's gotten into sailor lore, somehow."

Now that you bring it up, they were a little odd. Even Captain Nielsen--"

Yes, even the tough-minded old Swede who would approach the devil himself and ask him for a light. Those fishy blue eyes held a look I had never seen there before. All I could get out of him was, "This place has an evil name among seafaring men, sir.

No breeze was present. As flat as a plate-glass window, the ocean was. We were then getting closer to the island. I had a cerebral shiver and a sudden sense of fear.

"Pure imagination," Rainsford remarked.

"One superstitious seaman can contaminate the entire crew of the ship with his fear."

"Maybe. But on occasion, I believe that sailors possess a special instinct that alerts them to danger. I have moments when I believe that evil has wave lengths, just like music and light do. So to say, a wicked area may transmit the vibrations of evil. Anyway, I'm delighted we're leaving this area. Well, Rainsford, I suppose I'll retire now.

Rainsford affirmed, "I'm not sleepy. I'm going to smoke another pipe up on the afterdeck.

Then good night, Rainsford. We'll meet at breakfast.

"Right. Until tomorrow, Whitney.

The yacht's engine, which sped the vessel through the night while making a muffled throbbing noise, and the swish and ripple of the propeller wash were the only sounds Rainsford could hear as he sat there.

The sensual lethargy of the night was upon Rainsford, who was lounging in a steamer chair and leisurely puffing on his beloved brier. "It's so dark," he mused, "that I could sleep without closing my eyes; the night would be my eyelids--"

Off to the right, he heard a sudden bang that his trained ears could not have missed. He heard it again, and again, and realized that someone had shot a gun three times somewhere in the darkness.

Mystified, Rainsford leaped to the rail and balanced himself there to gain more elevation; his pipe was knocked from his mouth by a rope as 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 cut short as the blunder was realized.

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 spot. There was a chance that his cries could be heard by someone aboard the speeding yacht, but the wash from the yacht slapped him in the face and the salt water in his open mouth made him gag and strangle.

As he fought the waves for what seemed like an eternity, Rainsford remembered the bullets; they had come from the right, and he persistently went in that direction, swimming with long, methodical strokes, saving his power.

Out of the shadows, Rainsford heard a high-pitched cry that sounded like an animal in extreme distress or panic.

He didn't try to identify the animal that created the sound; instead, he swam toward it with renewed vigor. He heard the sound again before it was interrupted by another, sharp, staccato noise.

As he continued to swim, Rainsford said, "Pistol shot."

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 climbed up, hand over hand.

Sleep had given him fresh vitality; a sharp hunger was gnawing at him. When he opened his eyes, he could tell by the position of the sun that it was late in the afternoon.

"Men are there whenever there are gunshots. He pondered the question: "What kind of men, in such a forbidding place, would be there? An uninterrupted front of snarled and ragged jungle fringed the shore. Where there are men, there is food."

It was easier to go down the beach, and Rainsford floundered along by the water for a little distance before stopping. He noticed no evidence of a track through the dense network of weeds and trees.

A small, glittering object not far away caught Rainsford's eye and he picked it up. It was an empty cartridge. 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 the weeds was stained crimson.

He noted, "A twenty-two," "That's weird. It has to have been a huge animal as well. With a light gun, the hunter had the guts to take it on. It's obvious that the brute fought back. I guess the hunter flushed his prey and injured it because they were the first three bullets I heard. He trailed it here and completed it for the last shot.

The print of hunting boots, which pointed along the cliff in the direction he had been going, was exactly what he had been hoping to find when he carefully examined the ground. Eagerly he hurried along, now slipping on a rotten log or a loose stone, but making headway; night was starting to settle on the island.

When Rainsford first saw the lights, he assumed he had come upon a village because there were many lights; however, as he continued on, he discovered to his great surprise that all the lights were in one enormous building--a lofty structure with pointed towers plunging upward into the gloom.

When he opened the towering spiked iron gate, Rainsford thought, "Mirage," but he discovered that it was not a mirage. The stone stairs and the large door with a leering gargoyle for a knocker were both genuine enough, but there was a sense of unreality hovering over them all.

He thought he heard footsteps inside, but the door remained closed. Rainsford lifted the heavy knocker again, and this time it creaked up stiffly as if it had never been used. He let it fall, and it startled him with its booming loudness. The door then opened, opening 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

Two little eyes peered at Rainsford through the scruff of the beard.

With a smile he thought would be disarming, Rainsford added, "Don't be scared. I'm no thief. I jumped off a boat. Sanger Rainsford from New York City here.

He was clothed in uniform--a black outfit trimmed with gray astrakhan--and showed no indication that he understood Rainsford's remarks, or that he had even heard them. The gun was pointed as solidly as if the giant were a statue.

I'm Sanger Rainsford of New York, and I jumped from a boat," Rainsford said again. I want to eat.

Another man was coming down the wide marble steps, an erect, slender man in evening clothes, and he advanced to Rainsford and held out his hand. The man's only response 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 together and stand at attention.

It is a great honor and pleasure to welcome Mr. Sanger Rainsford, the renowned hunter, to my house, he stated in a refined voice with a tiny accent that gave it more precision and deliberateness.

Rainsford automatically extended a handshake to the man.

I am General Zaroff, and I've read your book on hunting snow leopards in Tibet, you see.

The general 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, and a spare, dark face—the face of a man used to giving orders.

The commander said, "Ivan is an exceptionally powerful man, but he has the misfortune to be deaf and dumb. A straightforward man who is, I fear, rather savage like all members of his kind.

He's Russian, right?"

The general proclaimed, "He is a Cossack, and so am I," while grinning with red lips and pointy teeth.

Come, we shouldn't be talking here, he said. We might speak afterwards. You now desire clothing, food, and relaxation. You will receive them. This is a really peaceful location.

Ivan had returned, and the general addressed him while speaking with silent lips.

The general remarked, "Mr. Rainsford, I was about to eat my meal when you came. If you please, follow Ivan. I'll hold out for you. You'll discover that my clothing fit you, I believe.

The Most Dangerous Game: The Trophy Room for Hunting

The Award Room

Ivan lay out an evening suit, and when Rainsford put it on, he observed that it came from a London tailor who typically cut and sewn for none below the rank of duke. The quiet behemoth led him to a large, beam-ceilinged bedroom with a canopied bed big enough for six men.

Ivan led the general to the dining room, which was remarkable in many ways. It had a medieval grandeur about it; its oaken panels, high ceiling, and large refectory tables, where two score men could sit down to eat, suggested a baronial hall of feudal times. Around the hall were mounted heads of many animals—lions, tigers, elephants, moose, and bears—some of which Rainsford had never seen in larger or more perfect specimens.

The cocktail was exceptional, and Rainsford remarked that the table settings were of the highest caliber, including the linen, crystal, silver, and china. "You'll have a cocktail, Mr. Rainsford," he recommended.

General Zaroff observed, "We do our best to preserve the comforts of civilization here," as they ate borsch, the hearty, crimson soup with whipped cream so beloved to Russian palates. Please pardon any errors. You know, we're well off the beaten path. Do you believe the champagne has been harmed by its lengthy ocean voyage?"

However, there was one small aspect of the general's personality that made Rainsford uneasy: every time he looked up from his plate, he saw the general examining him, scrutinizing him closely. "Not in the least," said Rainsford.

Perhaps you were astonished that I knew your name, General Zaroff said. You see, I've read every hunting book that has ever been published in English, French, or Russian. Mr. Rains, I only have one passion in my life. that is the search, ford."

As he savored a particularly tender filet mignon, Rainsford said, "You have some wonderful heads here. That Cape buffalo is the largest I ever saw."

"Oh, that individual. He was indeed a monster.

Was he charging you?"

"Hurled me against a tree," the general said, "fractured my head. But I captured the beast.

Rainsord stated, "I've always believed that the Cape Buffalo is the most dangerous of all big game."

The general paused for a while, his peculiar red-lipped grin on his face, before softly replying, "No. You are mistaken, sir. "Here in my preserve on this island," he replied in the same slow tone, "I hunt more dangerous game. The Cape buffalo is not the most dangerous big game."

I'm surprised, said Rainsford, "Is there huge wildlife on this island?"

The general nodded and said, "The biggest."

"Really?"

Of course, it didn't arrive here spontaneously. I need to supply the island.

"General, what have you imported?Tigers? " Rainsford inquired."

"No," the general said with a smile. "I stopped being interested in tiger hunting years ago. I've used up all of my options, you see. Tigers no longer excite, no genuine danger. I thrive on peril, Mr. Rainsford.

The general offered his visitor a long, black cigarette with a silver tip that was scented and had an incense-like aroma while pulling out a gold cigarette case from his pocket.

The general remarked, "I shall be extremely pleased to have your companionship. We will have some great hunting.

Rainsford started, "But what game--"

The general said, "I'll tell you. You'll laugh, I know. In all humility, I believe I may claim to have accomplished a unique feat. I created a brand-new sensation. Could I perhaps pour you another port?"

I appreciate it, general.

God creates some guys poets, the general added after filling both cups. Some He makes into kings, some into beggars. I am the hunter He made. My father stated that my hand was built for the trigger. He was an avid sportsman and a very wealthy man having a quarter of a million acres in the Crimea. He got me a toy rifle that was custom crafted in Moscow when I was just five years old so that I could shoot birds. He did not penalize me when I used it to shoot several of his prized turkeys; instead, he gave me praise for my shooting skills. When I was ten years old, I shot my first bear in the Caucasus. My entire life has been a drawn-out search. As was customary for the sons of noblemen, I enlisted in the army and briefly held the command of a division of Cossack cavalry, but my true passion had always been hunting. Every type of game has been hunted by me in every country. I couldn't possibly tell you how many animals I've slaughtered.

The general smoked a cigarette and puffed.

"After the disaster in Russia, I departed since it was foolish for a Czarist commander to remain there. Many Russian nobles suffered total loss. I was fortunate to have made significant investments in American equities, so I'll never have to start a tea shop in Monte Carlo or operate a cab service in Paris. Naturally, I kept on hunting, going in search of grizzliest in the Rockies, Ganges crocodiles, and East African rhinoceroses. The Cape Buffalo struck me in Africa, causing a six-month injury. When I was feeling better, I headed into the Amazon to go hunting for jaguars since I had read that they were especially clever. The Cossack groaned. "They weren't. They were no match at all for a hunter with his wits about him and a powerful gun. I felt utterly let down. One night, while I lay in my tent with a throbbing headache, a horrible notion crept into my thoughts. I was getting tired of hunting! Remember that my life had been spent hunting. I've heard that in America, businesspeople frequently crumble when they leave the enterprise that has been their livelihood.

Yes, Rainsford acknowledged.

The general grinned and continued, "I had no desire to go to pieces. I must do something. Now, Mr. Rainsford, I have an analytical mind. I appreciate the challenges of the pursuit perhaps because of this.

Certainly, General Zaroff.

The general added, "I wondered why the chase no longer captivated me. Although Mr. Rainsford, you are considerably younger than I am and have not hunted as frequently, you might be able to foresee the outcome.

What was that?"

"To put it simply, hunting had stopped being what you might refer to as 'a sports proposition.' It had grown too simple. I constantly caught my prey. Always. Perfectionism is the biggest boring of them all.

A new cigarette was lighted by the general.

"With me, no animal had a chance any more. That is a mathematical certainty, not a brag. The only things the animal had were its legs and its instinct. Reason is invulnerable to instinct. I can tell you that it was a horrible time for me when I had this thinking.

Leaning across the table, Rainsford focused intently on what his host was saying.

The general said, "I was inspired to do what I must do."

How was that?"

The general added, grinning subtly, "I had to invent a new animal to hunt," the subtle smile of one who has confronted a challenge and triumphed over it.

"A new creature? You're kidding," the general retorted. "No, I never make jokes about hunting. I required a new pet. I located one. I thus purchased this island, erected this home, and now I go hunting here. The island is ideal for my needs because it has hills, bogs, and forests with a variety of different qualities.

However, the creature, General Zaroff?"

The general remarked, "Oh, it gives me access to the most thrilling hunting in the world. There is no hunting that even somewhat compares to that. I hunt every day, and I never get bored since I always have a quarry to compete with.

Incredulity may be seen in Rainsford's face.

"I wanted the ideal animal to hunt," the general stated. "So I asked, 'What are the characteristics of an ideal quarry?Naturally, the response was "It must have courage, cunning, and, most importantly, it must be able to reason."

But no animal can think, Rainsford said.

The general remarked, "My dear buddy, there is one who can.

Rainsford said, "But you can't mean--"

Also, why not?"

"General Zaroff, I can't believe you're serious. This is a disgusting joke.

Why shouldn't I take this seriously? I'm referring to hunting.

"Hunting? Great Guns, General Zaroff; you're talking about murder.

"I refuse to believe that such a modern and civilized a young man as you seem to be harbors romantic ideas about the value of human life," the general chuckled with complete good humor as he looked Rainsford in the eye. Surely your wartime experiences—"

Did not convince me to support cold-blooded murder, Rainsford firmly concluded.

The general was startled by laughter. "How extremely droll you are!"One doesn't expect to find a young educated man today, even in America, with such a naive and, if I may say so, mid-Victorian point of view," he remarked. It's similar like discovering a snuffbox in a limo. Well, you probably have Puritan ancestors. There seem to be so many Americans who had. You'll likely forget your preconceptions when you go hunting with me, I'll wager. Mr. Rainsford, you're in store for a real new delight.

I'm a hunter, not a murderer, thank you, I said.

"Dear me," the general remarked, seeming unruffled, "again that foul word." However, I believe I can convince you that your concerns are unjustified.

"Yes?"

The strong should live their lives and, if necessary, end their own lives. The weak people of the earth were placed here for the enjoyment of the powerful. I am powerful. Why not put my talent to use? Why not let me hunt if I want to? lassars, blacks, Chinese, whites, and mongrels are among the tramp ship sailors I chase. A purebred horse or hound is worth more than a dozen of them.

But they are guys, Rainsford said vehemently.

That is precisely why I employ them, the general said. It makes me happy. They have a limited capacity for logic. They are therefore hazardous.

But how can you obtain them?"

"This island is named Ship Trap," the general said, his left eyelid fluttering down in a wink. "Sometimes an enraged god of the great seas brings them to me. I occasionally lend a hand to Providence when it's not being very kind. With me, head to the window.

Rainsford walked up to the window and took in the view of the water.

"Watch! The outside!When the general pointed into the darkness and clicked a button, Rainsford first saw nothing but blackness, and then he noticed a flare of lights far out to sea.

"They imply a canal," the general observed with a smile; "huge boulders with razor edges squat like a sea monster with wide-open jaws. He dropped a walnut on the hardwood floor and brought his foot down on it, crushing it with ease. "Oh, certainly," he responded, nonchalantly, as though in response to a query, "I have electricity. Here, we strive to act decent.

"Civilized? And you murder men?"

The general's dark eyes briefly flashed with fury, but it was brief. He then replied, in his most charming voice, "Dear me, what a righteous young man you are! I can promise you that I don't act in the way you propose. That is unthinkable. I give these guests my whole attention. They receive a lot of nutritious food and exercise. They achieve excellent physical condition. You will be able to verify it tomorrow.

Why do you say that?"

The general grinned, "We'll stop by my training school; it's down in the cellar. I now have a dozen students down there. They came from the Spanish ship San Lucar, which had the misfortune to crash against some nearby rocks. I regret to tell that they are a pretty poor lot. Poor examples and more used to the deck than the jungle," he lifted his hand, and Ivan, the server, delivered thick Turkish coffee. Rainsford tried to hold back his remark.

I suggest to one of them that we go hunting. "It's a game, you see," said the general blandly. I furnish him with food and a top-notch hunting knife. I tell him to start in three hours. I'm supposed to follow, just carrying a handgun with the lowest caliber and maximum range. The game is won by my quarry if he manages to avoid me for three whole days. He loses if I discover him, the general grinned.

"What if he declines to be hunted?"

Oh, I give him his option, of course," the general said. If he chooses not to, he need not participate in that game. I hand him over to Ivan if he doesn't want to go hunting. Ivan, who formerly had the privilege of serving as the Great White Czar's official knouter, has his own concepts of sport. Always, Mr. Rainsford, they decide to go hunting.

And if they succeed?"

"To date, I have not lost," the general grinned, before immediately adding, "I don't want you to believe me a braggart, Mr. Rainsford. Many of them just cover the most basic kinds of issues. I sometimes hit a tartar. One nearly prevailed. At some point, I had to utilize the dogs.

The canines?"

"Please go this way. I'll demonstrate.

Rainsford could see a dozen or more enormous black figures moving around in the courtyard below as the general led him to a window, where the lights from the windows cast a flickering lighting that created strange patterns. As they turned to face him, their eyes sparkled greenly.

They are allowed out at seven every night, the general said, "a very nice group, I suppose. He sang a little passage from a song from the Folies Bergere. "If somebody should try to sneak into my house—or out of it—something terribly unfortunate would befall to him.

I want to show you my newest collection of heads, the general said. Do you want to accompany me to the library?"

I sincerely hope you will pardon me this evening, General Zaroff," Rainsford remarked. I'm not feeling good at all.

"Ah, really?After your lengthy swim, I believe that's only natural, the general inquired. A restful night's sleep is necessary. I bet you'll feel like a new man tomorrow. Then, shall we go hunting? I have one very good potential, " Rainsford hurried out of the room.

The commander called, saying, "I expect quite fair sport--a big, powerful, black. Sorry you can't go with me tonight. He appears to be resourceful. Good night, Mr. Rainsford. I hope you have a restful night.

Rainsford tried to throw open the door of his room but 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 silty.

General Zaroff didn't show up until lunchtime, but when he arrived, he was impeccable in the tweeds of a country squire and concerned about Rainsford's health.

The general moaned, "As for me, I don't feel very well. Dear Mr. Rainsford, I'm concerned. I found remnants of my old complaint last night.

The general replied, "Ennui," in response to Rainsford's curious gaze. Boredom."

The general continued, eating more crepes Suzette, and said, "The hunting was not excellent last night. The person became insane. He blazed a clear path with no obstacles in his path. The problem with these sailors is that they already have dull minds and have no idea how to navigate the forests. They act in an exceedingly blatant and foolish manner. It is quite irritating. Mr. Rainsford, would you like another glass of Chablis?"

General, I want to leave this island right away, Rainsford declared forcefully.

"But, my dear guy," the general pleaded, "you've only just come. You haven't gone hunting.

The general's dead black eyes were fixed on Rainsford when he stated, "I wish to go today," and General Zaroff's expression abruptly changed.

He poured vintage Chablis from a dusty bottle into Rainsford's glass.

The commander declared, "We will go hunting tonight—you and I."

"No, general," Rainsford shook his head. "I will not hunt."

"As you desire, my friend," the general responded, shrugging his shoulders. "The decision is totally up to you. I dare you, though, that you'll find my definition of sport more entertaining than Ivan's."

He pointed in the direction of the corner, where the enormous man was standing with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

Rainsford said, "You don't mean--"

Have I not told you that when I make statements about hunting, I always mean them? This is very motivating. Finally, I raise my glass to an adversary worthy of my steel, the general said, but Rainsford sat there looking at him.

Your wits versus mine," the general exclaimed enthusiastically. "You'll find this game worth playing. Your woodworking vs mine. Your might and endurance up against mine. Chess outside! And the stake doesn't have no worth, right?"

Rainsford started huskily, "And if I win--"

General Zaroff read Rainsford's mind and stated, "My sloop will place you on the mainland near a town. I'll cheerfully acknowledge myself defeat if I do not find you by midnight of the third day."

"Oh, you can trust me," the Cossack answered, "I will give you my word as a gentleman and a sportsman. Of course, you also have to promise to keep quiet about your visit.

I won't consent to anything of the like, Rainsford declared.

The general responded, "Oh, in that case--But why talk about that right now? If not, we can talk about it in three days over a bottle of Veuve Cliquot.

The general took a drink of wine.

"Ivan," he remarked to Rainsford, "will supply you with hunting clothes, food, and a knife," after which a businesslike attitude enlivened him. Because they leave a worse track, I advise you to wear moccasins. I also advise you to stay away from the large marsh that is located in the southeast of the island. It is known as Death Swamp. Quicksand is present there. One idiotic man gave it a go. It was regrettable that Lazarus had followed him. You might probably guess how I feel, Mr. Rainsford. Lazarus was my favorite dog and the best member of my group. Now I must ask your forgiveness. After lunch, I always take a nap. I worry that you won't have much time for a nap. Undoubtedly, you'll want to get going. I won't follow till after sunset. Do you agree that nighttime hunting is significantly more thrilling than daytime hunting? General Zaroff walked out of the room with a deep, courtly bow and said, "Au revoir, Mr. Rainsford, au revoir."

Ivan entered from a different entrance, carrying a cocked handgun tucked under the red belt around his waist, khaki hunting gear, a haversack with food, and a leather sheath holding a long-bladed hunting knife.

After two hours of battling through the underbrush, Rainsford said, "I must maintain my composure. Through clenched teeth, he whispered, "I must maintain my nerve.

His initial plan was to put distance between himself and General Zaroff, and to that end, he had plunged along, spurred on by the sharp rowers of something very like panic. However, now that he had gained control of himself, stopped, and was taking stock of the situation, he realized that straight flight was pointless because it would inevitably bring him face to face with the sea.

"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--

Although the jungle was silent and the night crawled by like a wounded snake, Rainsford was unable to sleep. As morning approached, a startled bird's cry directed Rainsford's attention in that direction. Something was emerging from the bush in the same winding fashion that Rainsford had come. Rainsford flattened himself on a branch and saw, through a screen of leaves, a man.

Almost beneath the tree, General Zaroff stopped, dropped to his knees, and studied the ground. Rainsford's initial reaction was to hurl himself to the ground like a panther, but he noticed that the general's right hand was holding something metallic—a small automatic pistol.

After giving the impression that he was perplexed, the hunter shook his head several times before standing up and pulling out one of his black cigarettes, whose strong smoke drifted up to Rainsford's nose.

The hunter's sharp eyes stopped before they reached the limb where Rainsford lay; a smile spread across 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. Rainsford held his breath. The general's eyes had left the ground and were moving inch by inch up the tree. Rainsford froze there, every muscle tensed for a spring

The general could follow a trail through the woods at night; he could follow a very difficult trail; he must have uncanny powers; only by the slightest chance had the Cossack failed to see his quarry. Rainsford's first thought made him feel sick and numb.

Rainsford's second idea, which was far worse, made him shake with icy fear and made him wonder why the general had smiled and turned around.

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 understood the true meaning of terror. He did not want to believe what his reason told him was true, but the truth was as obvious as the sun, which by this point had pushed through the morning mists.

"I'm not going to lose my nerve. "I won't,"

Three hundred yards from his hiding place, Rainsford stopped where a large dead tree leaned precariously on a smaller, living one. Throwing off his sack of food, Rainsford took his knife from its sheath and started working with all his energy. 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.

He flung himself down behind a fallen log a hundred feet away after the operation was finally accomplished since he knew the cat would soon return to play with the mouse.

The Cossack was so focused on his stalking that he was upon the object Rainsford had made before he saw it. Even as he touched it, the general sensed his danger and leaped back with the agility of an ape, but he was still on the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound. Nothing escaped those searching black eyes, no crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark, no matter how faint, in the moss.

"Rainsford," the commander said, "let me congratulate you if you are within sound of my voice, which I assume you are. Few guys are skilled at creating a Malay mancatcher. Fortunately for me, I've also gone hunting in Malacca. Mr. Rainsford, you are proving to be intriguing. I'm going to get my small, hardly noticeable wound treated right away. But I'll be coming back. I'll be coming back.

Rainsford resumed his flight after the general, who was tending to his bruised shoulder, left. This time, it was flight—a desperate, hopeless flight—that kept him moving for several hours as the ground grew softer under his moccasins, the vegetation grew ranker and denser, and insects bit him viciously.

Then, as he took a step forward, his foot sank into the ooze; he struggled to get it out, but the ooze sucked savagely at his foot like it were a big leech; with a strong effort, he tore his feet away; he knew where he was now: Death Swamp and its quicksand.

The softness of the soil had given him an idea; he walked back from the quicksand about a dozen feet and, like some great ancient beaver, he started to dig. His fists were clinched tightly, as if his nerve were something tangible that someone in the darkness was attempting to pull from his fingers.

The pit grew deeper; when it was above his shoulders, he climbed out and cut stakes from some hard saplings, sharpened them to a fine point, and planted these stakes 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 blood, he covered the stakes in the bottom of the pit.

It seemed to Rainsford that the general was coming with unusual swiftness; he was not feeling his way along, foot by foot; crouching there, he could not see the general, nor could he see the pit. Then he felt an impulse to cry out loud in joy, for he heard the sharp crackle of th e general's cigarette, and the night breeze brought him the scent of the general's cigarette.

The general's voice came, "You've done well, Rainsford. Your Burmese tiger pit has claimed one of my best dogs. Once more, you win. I'll see what you can do against my entire pack, Mr. Rainsford, I guess. I'm heading home right now to relax. Thank you for a really entertaining evening.

A sound that made Rainsford realize he had new things to learn about dread woke him up at dawn when he was sleeping next to a swamp. It was a far-off, tremulous sound, but he recognized it as the howling of hounds.

For a minute he remained there, contemplating, then a notion that held a wild chance came to him, and, tightening his belt, he started away from the swamp. Rainsford realized he could do one of two things: he could stay where he was and wait; that would be suicide; or he could run; that would be delaying the inevitable.

On a ridge, Rainsford climbed a tree, and down a watercourse, not a quarter of a mile away, he could see the bush moving. Straining his eyes, Rainsford saw the lean figure of General Zaroff; just ahead of him, he 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 close

His mind raced, thinking of a native trick he had learned in Uganda, and he slid down the tree, grabbing hold of a springy young sapling, fastening his hunting knife to it with the blade pointing down the trail, tying back the sapling with a bit of wild grapevine, and running for his life as the hounds raised their voices as they caught the new scent. Rainsford now understood what it was like to be held at bay by an animal.

They must have reached the knife since Rainsford had to pause to get his breath after the hounds' abrupt halt in their baying.

The hope that Rainsford had when he climbed the tree died when he saw that General Zaroff was still on his feet in the shallow valley, but Ivan was not. The knife, driven by the recoil of the springing tree, had not completely failed, but his pursuers had stopped.

Rainsford had scarcely hit the ground when the group picked up the chant once more.

Neuralgia! 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. . . .

The Cossack halted when the general and his party arrived at the location by the sea, stood in front of the stretch of blue-green water for a while, shrugged his shoulders, then sat down, drank brandy from a silver flask, lit a cigarette, and sang a little bit of Madame Butterfly.

Two minor annoyances prevented General Zaroff from fully enjoying his exceptionally delicious dinner in his large, paneled dining hall that evening: the thought that it would be difficult to replace Ivan and the realization that his quarry had escaped him; of course, the American hadn't played the game, the general reasoned as he sipped his after-dinner liqueur; and the desire to read in his library.

There was a man standing there who had been lurking in the bed's drapes.

"Rainsford!How in God's name did you get here, the general yelled?"

"Swam," Rainsford advised, "I found it quicker than walking through the jungle."

"I congratulate you," the general grinned, "you have won the game."

"I am still a beast at bay," Rainsford muttered in a low, scratchy voice. "Get ready, General Zaroff." He did not grin.

The commander bowed deeply, "I see," he murmured, "Splendid! One of us is responsible for providing food for the hounds. The other will rest in this superb bed. Keep an eye out, Rainsford."

Rainsford concluded that he had never slept in a nicer bed.