midnight
Five years ... A wedge of wild-fowl honked low overhead and at sight of the encampment veered swiftly to the north into the smouldering sun . Van Brunt could not follow them . He pulled out his watch . It was an hour past midnight . The northward clouds flushed bloodily , and rays of sombre-red shot southward , firing the gloomy woods with a lurid radiance . The air was in breathless calm , not a needle quivered , and the least sounds of the camp were distinct and clear as trumpet calls . The Crees and _ voyageurs _ felt the spirit of it and mumbled in dreamy undertones , and the cook unconsciously subdued the clatter of pot and pan .