PaintballX3 Magazine PaintballX3, November 2012 - Page 69

Iever 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?" In the early fall of 1976, Hayes Noel, a then 35-year-old stock and options trader from Nashville, Tennessee, who works and resides in New York City, is visiting a friend at his farm in Virginia. The friend is 34-year-old Terry Sieg, the founding publisher and editor of ROCKY MOUNTAIN MAGAZINE and the monthly internet newsletter LA BELLE FRANCE. A former star running back at the University of Virginia who in 1964 was drafted by the Oakland Raiders in the fourteenth round and then traded to the Cleveland Browns, Sieg has just moved back to Charlottesville after a brief career in publishing in Manhattan to manage the J.W. Sieg beverage distribution business, which his father had founded a dozen years earlier. Walking Sieg's 373-acre property, Wildcat Hollow Farm, the two friends come upon a large pasture where Black Angus steers graze under a postcard autumn sky. Noel looks at the cattle and surrounding hills in nascent foliage and inquires nonchalantly as to the quality of the hunting thereabouts. Sieg, a noted sportsman who has traveled extensively to pursue his passions for fly fishing and big-game hunting, answers without much enthusiasm. This response surprises Noel and he says, "I thought you were a big deer hunter. Hell, looks like there'd be a lot of game around here." Sieg pauses and agrees there is, but as an afterthought adds that he no longer pursues local ga YHوH[[]H\Y]KZ\\H\Y]YX[[܈YY[H NM̋[H[ۈH[[Y\H[[[XK[Y[\HYY[YH[\H\[^\[YY\[[\وY[\K[H[\\\ۙH[ ^H[XHۈ[H\\YY[]H]