midnight
Ha ! you old spindle-legged monster , stand off from that tree . Take a turn at mine now , for a change . You ca n't shake me down , if you butt till midnight . '' Garst 's last sentences were hurled at the moose . The Bostonian , having reached a safe height , thrust his face out from his screen of branches , waving first an arm , and then a leg , at the besieging foe , hoping that the force of those battering antlers would be directed against his hemlock , so that his friend 's nerves might get a chance to recover . The ruse succeeded .