Eight o'clock
Three or four miles lay between the sullen travelers and the town that cradled itself in the lower end of the valley . Night had stolen early upon the dour spring day . The tall man who led carried a rickety , ill-smelling lantern that sent its feeble rays no farther ahead than a dozen paces ; it served best to reveal the face of the huge silver watch which frequently was drawn from its owner 's coat pocket . Eight o'clock , -- no more , -- and yet it seemed to these men that they had plowed forever through the blackness of this evil night , through a hundred villainous shadows by unpointed paths . Mile after mile , they had traversed almost impassable roads , unwavering persistence in command of their strength , heavy stoicism their burden . Few were the words that had passed between them during all those weary miles . An occasional oath , muffled but impressive , fell from the lips of one or the other of those who followed close behind the silent , imperturbable leader .