midnight
He had no kin this side the Ohio ; and , for aught he knew , nowhere . His wife 's nephews and cousins , pegging away in these hills , were beginning to build air-castles of days when the Pine Tree mill should be theirs . Such was the old man who drove along in the moonlight , past Mormon Bar and over Chichilla Hill , holding a sleeping lad in his arms ; and feeling , for the first time in years , the heart within him . It was nearer dawn than midnight when the tired team , which had been slowly creeping up the mountain road for hours , turned into the lane above the mill and waited for their owner to swing open the gate which barred the way to the private road leading through the oak pasture to Pine Tree Ranch and home . It was one of those matchless nights that come only in the mountains , when the world is flooded with a soft , silvery light and the great trees stand out transfigured against the sky , amid a silence profound and awe-inspiring . It had been a long ride ; aye , a long one indeed to Andrew Malden . He had traveled across more than half a century of life since they left Gold City .