about ten o'clock
Seldom did he ride , and then only for a moment or two when the going was best . For the most part he maintained a steady , swinging trot that kept pace with the pattering feet ahead of him and caused the miles rapidly to drop behind . Through drifts knee-deep , through long , soft stretches he held to that unfaltering stride ; occasionally he turned his head and flashed a smile or waved his hand at the man behind . Along about ten o'clock he halted his team where a dead spruce overhung the river-bank . By the time Rock had pulled in behind him he had clambered up the bank , ax in hand , and was making the chips fly . He sent the dry top crashing down , then explained : `` Dem dogs go better for l'il rest . We boil de kettle , eh ? ''