One o'clock
Presently out of the howling gale came the sound of half a dozen shots , and then of a fusillade . But Jim , if he heard them , did not guess the all they meant to him . For an hour he had only moved his hands to take the pitcher , or to put it down , or to feed the drink to the tiny foundling , still so motionless and dull with the fever . One o'clock was finally gone , and two , and three . Jim and the yearning Miss Doc still battled on , like two united parents . Then at last the miner made a half-stifled sound in his throat . `` You -- can go and git a rest , '' he said , brokenly .