nine o'clock in the morning
The storm still swept straight west from Hudson 's Bay , bringing with it endless volleys of snow , round and hard as fine shot ; snow that had at first seemed to pierce his flesh , and which swished past his feet , as if trying to trip him , and tossed itself in windrows and mountains in his path . If he could only find timber -- shelter ! That was what he worked for now . When he had last looked at his watch it was nine o'clock in the morning ; now it was late in the afternoon . It might as well have been night . The storm had long since half blinded him . He could not see a dozen paces ahead .