midnight
The brakeman 's wolf-like yelp -- `` Greenfields ! '' -- was ringing in his ears when he awoke and stumbled down aisle and car-steps just in the nick of time . The train , whisking round a curve cloaked by a belt of somber pines , left him quite alone in the world , cast ruthlessly upon his own resources . An hour had elapsed ; it was now midnight ; the moon rode high , a cold white disk against a background of sapphire velvet , its pellucid rays revealing with disheartening distinctness the inanimate and lightless roadside hamlet called Greenfields ; its general store and postoffice , its _ soi-disant _ hotel , its straggling line of dilapidated habitations , all wrapped in silence profound and impenetrable . Not even a dog howled ; not a belated villager was in sight ; and it was a moral certainty that the local livery service had closed down for the night . Nevertheless , Maitland , with a desperation bred of the prospective five-mile tramp , spent some ten valuable minutes hammering upon the door of the house infested by the proprietor of the livery stable . He succeeded only in waking the dog , and inasmuch as he was not on friendly terms with that animal , presently withdrew at discretion and set his face northwards upon the open road .