He decided not to bother him at this moment and seated himself in a chair before the desk.

There was plenty of time.

His father would be as disagreeably surprised to meet him five minutes from now as he would were he to stalk into his presence at this moment.
Once in the chair, Calumet realized that he was tired, and he leaned back luxuriously, stretching his legs.

The five minutes to which he had limited himself grew to ten and he still sat motionless, looking out of the window at the deepening dusk.

The shadows in the wood near the house grew darker, and to Calumet's ears came the long-drawn, plaintive whine of a coyote, the croaking of frogs from the river, the hoot of an owl nearby.