nine o'clock
Travelling is tarnation bad . '' Once they were on the mare 's back , conversation dragged , then died a natural death . Truedale felt as if he were living a bit of anti-war romance as he jogged along behind his guide , his grip knocking unpleasantly against his leg as the way got rougher . It was nine o'clock when , in a little clearing close by the trail , the lights of a cabin shone cheerily and the mare stopped short and definitely . `` I hope White is at home ! '' Truedale was worn to the verge of exhaustion . `` I be Jim White ! ''