about seven minutes past five
`` What time is it ? '' asked Wicker Bonner . Anderson Crow squinted up through the leafless treetops toward the setting sun ; then he looked at the shadow of a sapling down on the bank . `` It 's about seven minutes past five -- in the evenin ' , '' he said conclusively . Bonner was impolite enough to pull out his watch for verification . `` You 're a minute fast , '' he observed ; but he looked at Anderson with a new and respectful admiration . `` He c 'n detect anything under the sun , '' said Porter with a feeble laugh at his own joke .