Twelve o'clock
The candle was burned out and the fire low . Ross crawled out stiffly , every muscle aching and sore . Filling the stove , he looked at his watch . Twelve o'clock ! He had slept away the morning . Outside the blizzard raged in unabated fury , but so sheltered was the shack by scrub hemlocks and banks of snow roof-high , that but little wind found its way through the mud-chinked log walls . Standing over the fire , Ross looked at the dark outlines of the one bunk , and considered his situation .