43-09-23_The_Most_Dangerous_Game.txt

Suspense. This is the man in black here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense. From Hollywood, we bring you as star, Mr. Orson Welles. With this evening begins a four week engagement as guest of these proceedings. In the interest of prime suspense, Mr. Wells and the producer of this series have scheduled four radio stories which they feel are particularly distinguished in our chosen field. The first of these is The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Garnall. And so, with the performance of Orson Welles in the character of General Zaroff and Keenan Wynn as Sanger Rainsford, who learned from Zaroff what was the most dangerous game. We again hope to keep you in suspense. I haven't much time. Any moment now, he may come in, and when he does, I'm going to kill him. It's him or me, and I'm going to do my best to make it him. Well, maybe it sounds crazy to you. I guess it does. Would have sounded crazy to me a few days ago when I was with Whitney on the yacht. I was on a pleasure trip. A pleasure trip. How were I, how could I, or anyone realize then the horror and torment I was to go through? How was I to know of Ivan and the Death Swamp and the Hounds? How was I to know of the Zaroff? Think of it. It was only four nights ago that the ship went down. We've been talking about this island, Ship Trap Island, Whitney said it was called on the charts. I was sleepy and started on down below to turn in. I was mixing myself a nightcap when I looked up and saw it. A tremendous reef racing at us out of the fog. I screamed out a warning, but it was too late. We were right upon it. The ship is. I alone was standing safe out on the prowl, but the force of the explosion hurled me into the blood-warm waters. Terrified at the suddenness and surprise, my stomach weakened sick at the thought of the others. The sea was eddying furiously around the sinking remnants of the ship, and a certain cool headedness came to me and made me swim desperately away, or I might not have lived to go through the horror which was soon to come. I struck out to the right in the direction of the island about which Whitney had been telling me. I have no recollection of how long I swam, but all at once I heard the muttering and growling of the sea breaking on the rocky shore. With my remaining strength, I dragged myself from the swirling waters. All in, gasping, my hands raw, I at last reached a flat place at the top. I flung myself down in the jungle edge and tumbled headlong into the deepest sleep of my life. When I awoke, I was in a strange place, having no idea how I felt. Well, Yvonne, our friend seems to be awakening. I. Where is this? Where am I? Do not be alarmed, my friend. My man Yvonne found you out on the cliff and brought you here to be taken care of. Thank God there's life on this island. I hardly believed it. Few people do. You are quite safe here in my castle, Mr. Rainsford. Rainsford. I'm Sanger Rainsford of New York. Rainsford? Sanger Rainsford? Yes. Well, it is indeed a very great pleasure and honor to welcome you, Mr. Sanger Rainsford. You're the celebrated hunter, are you not? Yes, yes. You know me? By reputation only. I've read your book about hunting snow leopards in Tibet, you see. My name is General Zaroff. I am not English, Mr. Rainsford, but I went to a good school. Perhaps you recognize the colors of my tie. No, it makes no difference. I've lived too long in the jungle to be a snob. Well, I. Well. I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you, General. And I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you, Mr. Rainsford. But come, we shouldn't be chatting here. We can talk later. You must be hungry. Yes, I am, rather. What? Ivan thought you'd like a robe. He's drying your clothes for you. Oh, thank you. Ivan's an incredibly strong fellow, but you mustn't mind his looks. His ears were cut off in battle, and he has the misfortune to be deaf and dumb. He is sensitive about his appearance. A simple fellow, really, but I'm afraid a bit savage. Oh? He's been in our family for years. Follow Ivan, if you please, Mr. Rainsford. I was about to have my luncheon just before you awoke. We can have it together now. Does the robe fit you all right? Oh, yes, yes, perfectly, thanks. I am so glad. You have quite a collection of heads here. Lions, tigers, elephants, moose, bears. I don't believe I've ever seen a more perfect specimen. They are nice. I take great pride in them. You have good cause. Coming from you, Mr. Rainsford, that is a great compliment. And here we are. You sit over there. Thank you. Oh. Hi, Ivan. We do our best to preserve the amenities of civilization here. Please forgive my any laps. Of course. Well, off the beaten track, you know. Uh, Shoo Shoo. Shoo shoo! Shoo shoo! This is my little pet, Mr. Rainsford. As a hunting falcon, Shoo shoo is of no further usefulness in the field. But I am fond of its company. My not little sweetheart. Patience, my darling. I know you're hungry, my dear. We hunt tonight. Your heads are really remarkable, General. That Cape buffalo is the largest I've ever seen. Ah, that ferry is a monster. Did he charge you? Hurled me against a tree, fractured my skull, left me the scar. And I got the brute. I've always thought the Cape buffalo is the most dangerous of all games. No, no, you're wrong. Wrong, sir. The Cape buffalo is not the most dangerous game. Yvonne, the wine. How does he understand you? He reads my lips. You like this champagne, Mr. Rainsford? Yvonne chills it expertly. No, no, the cave of buffalo is not the most dangerous game. Here in my preserve on this island, I hunt more dangerous game. Well, what is there big game on this island? The biggest. Really? Oh, it isn't here naturally, of course. I have to stock the island. What have you imported, General? Jaguars? Jaguars. I hope you like filet mignon, Mr. Ren. I do very much, thank you. Is it jaguars, General? No, no, no. Hunting jaguars ceased to interest me some years ago. I exhausted their possibilities, you see. No thrill left in jaguars, you understand? No real danger. I live for danger, Mr. Rainsford. We will have some capital hunting. You'll die. I shall be most glad to have your company. Yes, but I'll kill you. You'll be amused, I know. I think you may say in all modesty that I've done a rare thing. Yes, I've invented a new sensation. May I pour you another glass of champagne, Mr. Rainsford? Thank you, General. 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 once said that. Made for the trigger. My whole life has been one prolonged hunt. I've hunted every kind of game in every land. It would be impossible for me to tell you how many animals I've killed. Grizzlies in your Rockies, crocodiles in the Ganges, rhinoceroses in East Africa. This is Africa, by the way. But Cape Buffalo hit me and laid me up for six months. As soon as I recovered, I started to the Amazon to hunt jaguars, but I'd heard they were unusually cunning. They weren't. They were no match at all for a hunter with his wits about him, the high powered rifle. I was bitterly disappointed. I was lying in my tent with a splitting headache one night. A terrible thought pushed its way into my head. Hunting was beginning to bore me. And hunting, remember, had been my life. I've heard that in America, businessmen often go to pieces when they give up the business that's been their life. Yes, I've heard that. I had no wish to go to pieces. I must do something. Now, mine is an analytical mine, Mr. Rinsford. Doubtless. That is why I enjoy the problems of the chase. Oh, no doubt, General. So 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 is 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. No greater bore than perfection. Cigarette? No, thank you. No animal had a chance with me anymore. Not a chance. That is no boast. It is a mathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is no match for reason. When I thought of this, it was a tragic moment for me, I can tell you. It came to me as an inspiration. What I must do. And that was. I had to invent a new animal to hunt. A new animal? Are you joking? Not at all. I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I bought this island, built this castle, and here I do my hunting. The island's perfect for my purposes. There are jungles with a maze of trails in them, hills, swamps, and all that. Yes, but the animal. The animal, General Zara. It surprised me with the most exciting hunting in the world. No other hunting compares with it for an instant. Every day I hunt. I never grow bored now. For I have a quarry with which I can match my wits. Yes, but you still have. I wanted the ideal animal to hunt, 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. Well, no animal can. My dear fellow, there is one that can. One? But you can't mean. And why not? Well, I can't believe you're serious, General Zaroff. You're just joking. Joking? I'm quite serious. Speaking about hunting. Hunting? You're speaking about murder. Oh, dear me, that unpleasant word. I think I can show you that your scruples are quite ill founded. Yes? I hunt the scum of the earth. Sailors from tramships, lascars, japs, mongrels, a thoroughbred horse, a hound is worth more than a score of. But these are men. Precisely. 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? Oh, you visit my training school. It's in the cellar. I have about a dozen pupils down there now. They're from the Spanish park San Lucar that had the bad luck to go to the rocks out there. A very inferior lot, I regret to say. Poor specimens, more accustomed to the deck than to the jungle. Another class, but no. Yes, a game, you see. Sort of game. 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'm 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, he loses. Suppose he refuses to be hunted. I give him his choice, of course. He need not play that game if he does not wish to. If he does not wish to hunt, I turn him over to Yvonne. Yvonne once had the honor of serving as official knouter to my old king, and he has his own ideas of sport. Invariably, Mr. Rainford, invariably they choose the hunt. And if they win? To date. I have not lost. I do not wish you to think me a braggart, Mr. Rainsford. Many of them afford only the most elementary sort of problem, I assure you. Occasionally I strike a tartar. Oh, oh, oh. Shoo-choo remembers the tartar, don't you, darling? Yes, he almost did win. I eventually had to use the hounds. See? Wait a moment. I'll open the window. Hello, boys! A rather good lot, I think. They're let out at seven every night. If anyone should try to get into my castle or out of it, something extremely regrettable would occur to me. But enough of this. Come, I'll show you a collection of heads I'm quite sure you've never seen before. Join me in the library for coffee. I hope that you will excuse me tonight, General. Oh. I'm really not feeling well at all. Indeed. I know what it is. My old complaint. Ornuey boredom. You need some excitement. Tonight we'll hunt. Hey, Mr. Redford. You and I. You're wrong, General. I won't hunt. I won't murder. As you wish, my friend. 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? My dear fellow, you don't mean that you plan to hunt me? My dear fellow, have I not told you I always mean what I say about hunting? Is there an inspiration? I drink to a foeman's. Worthy of my steel at large. I simply can't believe it. This must be some sort of dream. You'll find the game worth playing, Mr. Rainsford. Think of it your brain against mine, your woodcraft against mine, your strength, your stamina against mine. Outdoor chess. And the stake is not without value, eh? And if I win. I'll cheerfully acknowledge myself defeated if I do not find you by midnight of the third day. My sloop will place you on the mainland near a town. Oh, you can trust me. I 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 will agree to nothing of the kind. Oh. Oh, well, in that case. But why discuss that now? Three days hence, we can discuss it over a bottle of Vos Clicos, unless. Well, your choice, Mr. Rainford. Elon here will supply you with hunting clothes, food, and 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. Well, I beg you to excuse me now. We always take our siesta after our lunch. Don't we, Shou Shou? Come, my little pet. You'll hardly have time for a nap, I fear, Mr. Edson. You'll want to start. Of course. I shall not follow through dusk. Hunting at night is so much more exciting than by day, don't you think? Well, au revoir, St. Rinford. Au revoir. I. I'd fought my way through the bush for two hours, repeating to myself over and over again I must. I must keep my nerve. I must keep my nerve. My whole idea at first was to put distance between myself and General Dolph. And to this end, I had plunged along through the thicket, spurred on by the sharp rows of something very much like panic. Now I had got a grip on myself. I'd stopped. I was taking stock of the situation. I saw that straight flight was futile. Inevitably, it would bring me face to face with the sea. Well, I'll give him a trail, I muttered. And I struck off from the rude path I had been following and into the trackless wilderness. I made a series of intricate loops. I doubled back on my trail again and again, recalling all the lore of the fox hunt, all the dodges of the fox. That found me exhausted, my hands and face lashed by the branches on a thickly wooded ridge. My need for rest was imperative, and I thought, I played the fox, now I must play the cat of the table. A big tree with a thick trunk and outspread branches was nearby, and taking care not to leave the slightest mark, I climbed up and stretched out among the broad limbs. Rest brought me new confidence and almost a feeling of security. Even so expert a hunter as General Zaroff cannot trace the deer, I assured myself. An apprehensive night crawled slowly by, my mind keenly alert for any sound, any warning. It was with all an instinct I never knew existed, like an animal was possessed, and impelled me to look far off in the distance in a westerly direction. Sure enough, following the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound came General Zaroff. Searching black eyes, no crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark, no matter how fine in the moss. My heart pounding furiously, I slid down quickly from the tree and struck off again into the woods. I knew I had to do something desperate. I knew that I had little time in which to do it. Three hundred yards from my hiding place, I stopped where a huge dead tree leaned precariously on a smaller living one. Throwing off my sack of food, I took my knife from its sheath and began to work with all my energy. The job was finished at last. And I threw myself down behind a fallen log 300 feet away. I did not have to wait long. Patience. Patience, my darling. You'll be fed. Rainsford. Rainsford. Rainsford! Got him. Rainsford! 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 mancatter. Luckily for me, I too have hunted in Malacca. You are proving interesting, Mr. Rainsford. Hmm. Very interesting. The tree brushed my shoulders. I jumped back. I'm going to have the wound rest. So it's light. So I shall be back, Mr. Rainsford. I shall be back. It was flight now, a desperate, hopeless flight that carried me on for hours. I don't know where I got the strength. I kept telling myself over and over again that I must keep my nerve, that I was competing with a monster, a super huntsman. Dusk came, then darkness, and still I managed to press on. The ground grew softer under my moccasins, the vegetation grew ranker, denser. Insects bit at me savagely. Suddenly, as I stepped forward, my foot sank into the oomph. I tried to wrench it back, but the muck sucked viciously at my foot like a giant leech. With a violent effort, I tore my foot loose. I knew where I was then. Death swamp and its quicksand. The softness of the earth had given me an idea. I stepped back from the quicksand a dozen feet or so and began to dig. When the pit was above my shoulders, I climbed out and from some hard saplings cut stakes and sharpened them. These stakes I planted in the bottom of the pit with a poke sticking upward. As fast as I could, I wove a rough carpet of weeds and branches and with it covered the mouth of the pit. And wet with sweat and aching with tiredness, I crouched behind the stump of a lightning charmed tree. Oh, I knew Zaroff was coming. I could hear the paddling sound of his feet on the sulfur. Zaroff was coming and coming fast. He was not feeling his way along foot by foot. Crouching there, I could neither see him nor see the pit. I lived a year and a minute, frozen, every muscle tensed. Very good, Rainford. Very good. You've done well. Your Burmese tiger pit has claimed one of my finest towns. Again, you score. I think, Mr. Rainford. I'll see what you can do against my whole pack. I'm going back to get them now. Thank you for a most amusing evening. At daybreak, lying near the swamp, I was awakened by a sound that made me know I had new things to learn about fear. It was a distant sound, faint and wavering, but I knew it. It was the baying of a pack of hounds. I could do one of two things. I could stay where I was and wait. That was suicide. I could flee. That was postponing the inevitable. I had put my very last hope into that tiger pit. For a moment, I stood there thinking. All at once, an idea that held a wild chance came to me, and tightening my belt, I headed away from the swamp. The baying of the hounds drew nearer. They would be on me any minute now. My mind worked frantically. I thought of a native trick I had learned in Uganda. I caught hold of a springy young sapling and to it fastened my hunting knife with the blade pointing down the trail. With a bit of wild grapevine, I tied back the sapling. Then I ran for a life. I raised that big flying horse as if it burned me and I felt the fresh scent. I knew then how an animal would bay feel. At last, I had to stop to get my breath. The baying of the hounds stopped just as suddenly. And with it, my heart stopped too. They must have reached the knife. Excitedly, I shinned up a tree and looked back. My pursuers had stopped all right, but the hope that had been in my brain when I climbed died. For in the shallow valley, I saw that General Tarok was still on his feet. But I was not. Apparently, he had come along to hold the hounds. The knife, driven by the recoil of the springing tree, had splintered through his chest. I'd hardly tumbled to the ground when the pack took up the cry again. Nerve, nerve, nerve, nerve, I patted as I dashed down. A blue gap showed between the trees dead ahead. The hounds were almost on top of me. I forced myself on towards that gap. I reached it. It was the shore of the sea. I could feel a moon-raised door of the castle. Twenty feet below me, the sea howled and hissed. I hesitated. I heard the hounds. Then I leaped far out into the sea. The sea was good to me. And I'm here safe in the general's bedroom waiting for him. Three days are up, and I've eluded him. But now I must go further. In a moment, we will meet, he and I, and he will be unarmed. Only one of us is going to live. You understand that now. Quiet, Susu. Susu! Susu! You must be patient, dear. You must forgive me. You're hungry, I know. Susan. Rachel. Jenny. Rachel. How on earth did you get it? I swam. I found it easier and quicker than walking through the jungle. I congratulate you. It's true. You've won the game. Oh, no, General. I'm still a beast at bay here. Get ready, General Zaroff. Swords? Yes, two of them. I see. Oh, very good. Very good, Renfrew. One of us then is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. Excellent. On guard, Renfrew. Okay. Just as my late host said it would be a very excellent bed. And so closes The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell, starring Orson Welles, tonight's tale of suspense. Mr. Wells was General Zaroff, and Keenan Wynn, Rainsford. This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation to spend this half hour in suspense next week, same time. When Orson Welles will again be our star in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story, The Lost Special. The producer of Suspense is William Spear, who tonight also directed the broadcast, and who with Bernard Herman, the conductor, Lucian Marlowick, who composed the original score, and Private Jacques Anson Fink, the radio author, collaborated on tonight's Suspense. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.