CHAPTER VIII.
THE DEATH-HOUNDS It may have been ten o'clock on the following morning, or a little past it, when the Shaman Simbri came into my room and asked me how I had slept.
"Like a log," I answered, "like a log.

A drugged man could not have rested more soundly." "Indeed, friend Holly, and yet you look fatigued." "My dreams troubled me somewhat," I answered.

"I suffer from such things.

But surely by your face, friend Simbri, you cannot have slept at all, for never yet have I seen you with so weary an air." "I am weary," he said, with a sigh.

"Last night I spent up on my business--watching at the Gates." "What gates ?" I asked.