The Most Dangerous Game

"Off there to the right—somewhere—is a large island," saidWhitney. "It's rather a mystery—"

"What island is it?" Rainsford asked.

"The old charts call it `Ship-Trap Island,'" Whitney replied. "Asuggestive name, isn't it? Sailors have a curious dread of theplace. I don't know why. Some superstition—"

"Can't see it," remarked Rainsford, trying to peer through thedank tropical night that was palpable as it pressed its thick warmblackness in upon the yacht.

"You've good eyes," said Whitney, with a laugh, "and I've seenyou pick off a moose moving in the brown fall bush at four hundredyards, but even you can't see four miles or so through a moonlessCaribbean night."

"Nor four yards," admitted Rainsford. "Ugh! It's like moistblack velvet."

"It will be light enough in Rio," promised Whitney. "We shouldmake it in a few days. I hope the jaguar guns have come fromPurdey's. We should have some good hunting up the Amazon. Greatsport, hunting."

"The best sport in the world," agreed Rainsford.

"For the hunter," amended Whitney. "Not for the jaguar."

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

"Perhaps the jaguar does," observed Whitney.

"Bah! They've no understanding."

"Even so, I rather think they understand one thing—fear. Thefear of pain and the fear of death."

"Nonsense," laughed Rainsford. "This hot weather is making yousoft, Whitney. Be a realist. The world is made up of twoclasses—the hunters and the huntees. Luckily, you and I arehunters. Do you think we've passed that island yet?"

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

"Why?" asked Rainsford.

"The place has a reputation—a bad one."

"Cannibals?" suggested Rainsford.

"Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn't live in such a God-forsakenplace. But it's gotten into sailor lore, somehow. Didn't you noticethat the crew's nerves seemed a bit jumpy today?"