six o'clock
There was no blink of starlight in the murky sky , and out of the great waste of grass came a stinging wind that moaned about the frame houses clustering beside the trail that led south over the limited levels to the railroad and civilization . It chilled Winston , and his furs , somewhat tattered , gave him little protection . He strode up and down , glancing expectantly into the darkness , and then across the unpaved street , where the ruts were plowed a foot deep in the prairie sod , towards the warm red glow from the windows of the wooden hotel . He knew that the rest of the outlying farmers and ranchers who had ridden in for their letters were sitting snug about the stove , but it was customary for all who sought shelter there to pay for their share of the six o'clock supper , and the half-dollar Winston had then in his pocket was required for other purposes . He had also retained through all his struggles a measure of his pride , and because of it strode up and down buffeted by the blasts until a beat of horsehoofs came out of the darkness and was followed by a rattle of wheels . It grew steadily louder , a blinking ray of brightness flickered across the frame houses , and presently dark figures were silhouetted against the light on the hotel veranda as a lurching wagon drew up beneath it . Two dusky objects , shapeless in their furs , sprang down , and one stumbled into the post office close by with a bag , while the other man answered the questions hurled at him as he fumbled with stiffened fingers at the harness .