midnight
whispered Pat , and the three stopped motionless in their tracks . Billy held his breath and touched the cold steel in his pocket . Of course there was always the gun , but what was one gun against three ? The whistle of the Cannery at Sabbath Valley blew a relief blast five minutes ahead of midnight in deference to the church chimes , and the night shift which had been working overtime on account of a consignment of tomatoes that would not keep till Monday , poured joyously out into the road and scattered to their various homes . The outmost of these homegoers , Tom McMertrie and Jim Rafferty , who lived at the other extreme of the village , came upon a crippled car , coughing and crawling toward them in front of the Graveyard . Its driver , much sobered by lack of stimulant , and frequent necessity for getting out and pushing his car over hard bits of road , called to them noisily . The two workmen , pleasant of mood , ready for a joke , not altogether averse to helping if this proved to be `` the right guy , '' halted and stepped into the road just to look the poor noble car over .