The Most Dangerous Game
Richard Connell
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"Off there to the right-somewhere-is a large island," said Whitney. "It's rather a mystery-"
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"What island is it?" Rainsford asked.
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"The old charts call it 'Ship-Trap Island,'" Whitney replied. "A suggestive name, isn't it? Sailors have a curious dread of the place. I don't know why. Some superstition-"
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"Can't see it," remarked Rainsford, trying to peer through the dank tropical night that was palpable as it pressed its thick warm blackness in upon the yacht.
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"You've good eyes," said Whitney, with a laugh, "and I've seen you pick off a moose moving in the brown fall bush at four hundred yards, but even you can't see four miles or so through a moonless Caribbean night."
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"Nor four yards," admitted Rainsford. "Ugh! It's like moist black velvet."
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"It will be light enough in Rio," promised Whitney. "We should make it in a few days. I hope the jaguar guns have come from Purdey's. We should have some good hunting up the Amazon. Great sport, hunting."
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"The best sport in the world," agreed Rainsford.
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"For the hunter," amended Whitney. "Not for the jaguar."
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"Don't talk rot, Whitney," said Rainsford. "You're a big-game hunter, not a philosopher. Who cares how a jaguar feels?"
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"Perhaps the jaguar does," observed Whitney.
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"Bah! They've no understanding."
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"Even so, I rather think they understand one thing-fear. The fear of pain and the fear of death."
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"Nonsense," laughed Rainsford. "This hot weather is making you soft, Whitney. Be a realist. The world is made up of two classes-the hunters and the huntees. Luckily, you and I are hunters. Do you think we've passed that island yet?"
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"I can't tell in the dark. I hope so."
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"Why?" asked Rainsford.
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"The place has a reputation-a bad one."
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"Cannibals?" suggested Rainsford.
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"Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn't live in such a God-forsaken place. But it's gotten into sailor lore, somehow. Didn't you notice that the crew's nerves seemed a bit jumpy today?"
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"They were a bit strange, now you mention it. Even Captain Nielsen-"
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"Yes, even that tough-minded old Swede, who'd go up to the devil himself and ask him for a light.
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Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never saw there before.
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All I could get out of him was 'This place has an evil name among seafaring men, sir.' Then he said to me, very gravely, 'Don't you feel anything?'-as if the air about us was actually poisonous.
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Now, you mustn't laugh when I tell you this-I did feel something like a sudden chill.
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