midnight
Houston started forward , only to stop . A figure in the dim light of the cook car had caught his eye . Medaine Robinette . She was helping with the preparation of the midnight meal for the laborers , hurrying from the steaming cauldrons to the benches and baskets , filling the big pots with coffee , arranging the tin cups in their stacks for the various crews , and doing something that Houston knew was of more value than anything else , -- bringing a smile to the tired men who labored beside her . And this in spite of the fact that the black rings of fatigue were about her eyes , that the pretty , smoothly rounded features had the suggestion of drawnness , that the lips , when they ceased to move , settled into the slightest bit of a droop . Now and then she stopped by one of the tables and clung to it , as though for support , -- only to perk her head with a sudden little motion of determination , to turn , and then with a laugh go on with her work . Presently he heard her singing above the clatter of kitchenware and the scuffling of the men with their heavy , hobnailed shoes .