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The Most Dangerous Game- Part 1

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"Perhaps," said General Zaroff, "you were surprised that I recognized your name. You see, I read 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."
 
"You have some wonderful heads here," said Rainsford as he ate a particularly well-cooked filet mignon. " That Cape buffalo is the largest I ever saw."
 
"Oh, that fellow. Yes, he was a monster."
 
"Did he charge you?"
 
"Hurled me against a tree," said the general. "Fractured my skull. But I got the brute."
 
"I've always thought," said Rainsford, "that the Cape buffalo is the most dangerous of all big game."
 
For a moment the general did not reply; he was smiling his curious red-lipped smile. Then he said slowly, "No. You are wrong, sir. The Cape buffalo is not the most dangerous big game." He sipped his wine. "Here in my preserve on this island," he said in the same slow tone, "I hunt more dangerous game."
 
Rainsford expressed his surprise. "Is there big game on this island?"
 
The general nodded. "The biggest."
 
"Really?"
 
"Oh, it isn't here naturally, of course. I have to stock the island."
 
"What have you imported, general?" Rainsford asked. "Tigers?"
 
The general smiled. "No," he said. "Hunting tigers ceased to interest me some years ago. I 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.
 
"We will have some capital hunting, you and I," said the general. "I shall be most glad to have your society."
 
"But what game--" began Rainsford.
 
"I'll tell you," said the general. "You will be amused, I know. I think I may say, in all modesty, that I have done a rare thing. I have invented a new sensation. May I pour you another glass of port?"
 
"Thank you, general."
 
The general filled both glasses, and said, "God makes some men poets. Some He makes kings, 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.
 
"After the debacle in Russia, I left the country, for it was imprudent for an officer of the Czar to 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." The Cossack sighed. "They were no match at all for a hunter with his 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."
 
"Yes, that's so," said Rainsford.
 
The general smiled. "I had no wish to go to pieces," he said. "I must do something. Now, mine is an analytical mind, Mr. Rainsford. Doubtless, that is why I enjoy the problems of the chase."
 
"No doubt, General Zaroff."
 
"So," continued the general, "I asked myself why the hunt no longer fascinated me. You are much younger than I am, Mr. Rainsford, and have not hunted as much, but you perhaps can guess the answer."
 
"What was it?"
 
"Simply this: hunting had ceased to be what you call `a sporting proposition.' It had become too easy. I always got my quarry. Always. There is no greater bore than perfection."
 
The general lit a fresh cigarette.
 
"No animal had a chance with me anymore. That is no boast; it is a mathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is no match for the 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.
 
"It came to me as an inspiration what I must do," the general went on.
 
"And that was?"
 
The general smiled the quiet smile of one who has faced an obstacle and surmounted it with success. "I had to invent a new animal to hunt," he said.
 
"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 on 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."
 

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Questions and Answers The Most Dangerous Game- Part 1

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Word Lists:

Buffalo : a heavily built wild ox with backswept horns, found mainly in the Old World tropics.

Debacle : a sudden and ignominious failure; a fiasco

Quarry : a place, typically a large, deep pit, from which stone or other materials are or have been extracted

Analytical : relating to or using analysis or logical reasoning

Grisly : causing horror or disgust

Bewilderment : a feeling of being perplexed and confused

Hunter : a person or animal that hunts

Taxi :

General : affecting or concerning all or most people, places, or things; widespread

Imprudent : not showing care for the consequences of an action; rash

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Rating: A

Words: 1335

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