midnight
Had they not shared the last morsel of fish , the last pinch of tobacco , the last and inmost thought , on the barren stretches of Bering Sea , in the heartbreaking mazes of the Great Delta , on the terrible winter journey from Point Barrow to the Porcupine ? Father Roubeau puffed heavily at his trail-worn pipe , and gazed on the reddisked sun , poised somberly on the edge of the northern horizon . Malemute Kid wound up his watch . It was midnight . ` Cheer up , old man ! ' The Kid was evidently gathering up a broken thread . ` God surely will forgive such a lie .