seven o'clock
The breeze cooled the forehead and cheeks of the boy , but his pulses beat hard and fast . He looked back at Gonzales and he knew that he would never forget that little village of little log cabins . Then he looked straight before him at the yellow river , and the shore beyond , where the Mexican camp lay . It was now seven o'clock and the twilight was coming . `` Is n't it late to make an attack ? '' he said to Obed . `` It depends on what happens .