nine o'clock
He built a fire , made a mat of boughs , wrapped himself up in his canvas , and went promptly to sleep . He awoke cold , got his blood running by stamping about , put on fresh fuel and went to sleep again , his feet toward the blaze . Half a dozen times he was up during the night ; before dawn he had his coffee boiling ; before the sun was up he was well on his way again , driving the cramped chill out of him by walking vigorously . And at nine o'clock that morning he stood on the bench of a timbered slope whence , looking downward through the trees , he got his first glimpse of Lake Gloria and of the rambling log house which Ben Gaynor had been prevailed on to build here in the wild , a dozen miles from the Lake Tahoe road . He noted , as he came nearer , swinging along down the slope and seeing the little valley with its green meadow and azure lake , how Ben had had a log dam thrown across the pond 's lower end , backing up the water and making it widen out ; he saw a couple of graceful canoes resting tranquilly on their own reflections ; a pretty bathing-house already green with lusty hop-vines . Ben Gaynor had been spending money , a good deal of money . And no one knew better than Mark King that Ben had been close-hauled these latter years .