Six o'clock
It was God 's mercy the Apache dared not charge in the dark . -LSB- Illustration : THE FIGHT IN THE CAÑON -RSB- Lighter grew the deep gorge and lighter still , and soon in glorious radiance the morning sunshine blazed on the lofty battlements far overhead , and every moment the black shadow on the westward wall , visible to the defense long rifle-shot southeastward , gave gradual way before the rising day god , and from the broader open reaches beyond the huge granite shoulder , around which wound the cañon , and from the sun-kissed heights , a blessed warmth stole softly in , grateful inexpressibly to their chilled and stiffened limbs . And still , despite the growing hours , neither shot nor sign came from the accustomed haunts of the surrounding foe . Six o'clock was marked by Blakely 's watch . Six o'clock and seven , and the low moan from the lips of poor young Chalmers , or the rattle of some pebble dislodged by the foot of crouching guardian , or some murmured word from man to man , -- some word of wonderment at the unlooked for lull in Apache siege operations , -- was the only sound to break the almost deathlike silence of the morning . There was one other , far up among the stunted , shriveled pines and cedars that jutted from the opposite heights . They could hear at intervals a weird , mournful note , a single whistling call in dismal minor , but it brought no new significance .