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"off to the right somewhere there is a strange island somewhere out there" whitney said. "what island is it?" rainsford said confused
"the old carts call it ship-trap island a suggestive name isnt it. sailors have a curious dread of the place".
"can't see it" rainsford remarked trying to peer through the dank tropical night!
“Nor four yards,” admitted Rainsford. “Ugh! It’s like moist black velvet.”
"you've good eyes," said whitney with a laugh, “and I’ve seen you pick 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.”
“ The best sport in the world,” agreed Rainsford.
“It will be light in Rio,” promised Whitney.“We should make it in a few days. I hope the jaguar guns have come from Purdey’s.1 We should have some good hunting up the Amazon. Great sport, hunting.”
“For the hunter,” amended Whitney. “Not for the jaguar.”
“Perhaps the jaguar does,” observed Whitney.
“Nonsense,” laughed Rainsford. “ is hotweather is making you so , Whitney. Be a real- ist. e world is made up of two classes—the hunters and the huntees. Luckily, you and I are the hunters. Do you think we’ve passed that island yet?”
“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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