“Nuts, brother. You’re part of my dream, and I never saw you before. You don’t even have a name. All the others have, complete with backgrounds. But I can’t place you. Funny... Look here, you’re not real, are you?”
“The last time I pinched myself, I yelped.”
“This is crazy,” the man muttered.
He walked across the pine floor to within a couple of feet of the Saint. He was breathing easier now, and the Saint examined him impassively.
He was big, only a shade under the Saint’s six feet two, with sandy hair, a square jaw, and hard brown eyes.
“May I?” he said, and pinched the Saint. He sighed. “I was afraid this was happening. When I put my arms around Dawn Winter in my dreams, she—”
“Please,” the Saint broke in. “Gentlemen don’t go into lurid detail after the lady has a name.”
“Oh, she’s only part of my dream.” The stranger stared into space, and an almost tangible aura of desire formed about him. “God!” he whispered. “I really dreamed up something in her.”
“We must swap reminiscences someday,” the Saint said. “But at the moment the pine-scented breeze is laden with threshings in the underbrush.”
“I’ve got to hide. Quick! Where can I get out of sight?”