Yes, but there was one strange feature in this one.

The night was pitch dark, but ahead of me in the throat of the pass there was one patch of light, and it showed a rum little hill with a rocky top: what we call in South Africa a _castrol_ or saucepan.

I had a notion that if I could get to that _castrol_ I should be safe, and I panted through the drifts towards it with the avenger of blood at my heels.

I woke, gasping, to find the winter morning struggling through the cracked rafters, and to hear Blenkiron say cheerily that his duodenum had behaved all night like a gentleman.

I lay still for a bit trying to fix the dream, but it all dissolved into haze except the picture of the little hill, which was quite clear in every detail.