eight o'clock
There was a sweet tang of cedar and sage on the air and that indefinable fragrance peculiar to the canyon country of Arizona . How it brought back to Carley remembrance of Oak Creek ! In the west , across the purple notches of the abyss , a dull gold flare showed where the sun had gone down . In the morning at eight o'clock there were great irregular black shadows under the domes and peaks and escarpments . Bright Angel Canyon was all dark , showing dimly its ragged lines . At noon there were no shadows and all the colossal gorge lay glaring under the sun . In the evening Carley watched the Canyon as again the sun was setting .