nine o'clock in
the morning
The storm still swept straight west from Hudson 's Bay , bringing with it endless volleys of snow , round and hard as fine shot , snow that had at first seemed to pierce his flesh and which swished past his feet as if trying to trip him and tossed itself in windrows and mountains in his path . If he could only find timber , shelter ! That was what he worked for now . When he had last looked at his watch it was nine o'clock in the morning ; now it was late in the afternoon . It might as well have been night . The storm had long since half blinded him . He could not see a dozen paces ahead .