nearly fifteen
minutes past four
An old ramshackle house , which Tom thought might once have been a boathouse , stood near , the water lapping its underpinning . Close by it was a buoyed mooring float six or eight feet square , bobbing in the rushing water . One of the four air-tight barrels which supported it had caught in the mud and kept the buoyant , raft-like platform from being carried downstream in the rush of water . Holding his flashlight to his watch Tom saw that it was nearly fifteen minutes past four and he believed that about forty miles of road lay ahead of him . Slowly , silently , the first pale tint of gray in the sky behind him took on a more substantial hue , revealing the gaunt , black outlines of trees and painting the sun-dried , ragged shingles on the little house a dull silvery color . `` Anyway , you stood by me and it ai n't your fault , '' Tom muttered disconsolately . He turned the handle bar this way and that , so that _ Uncle Sam 's _ one big eye peered uncannily across the flooded stream and flickered up the road upon the other side , which wound up the hillside and away into the country beyond .