midnight
Every house in the Presidio and valley , every spare room at the Mission , opened to them with the exuberant hospitality of the country . The caballeros had their finest wardrobes of colored silks and embroidered botas , sombreros laden with silver , fine lawn and lace , jewel and sash , velvet serape for the chill of the late afternoon . The matrons brought their stiff robes of red and yellow satin , the girls as many flowered silks and lawns , mantillas and rebosos , as the family carretas would hold . The square of the Presidio was crowded from morning until midnight with the spirited horses of the country , prancing impatiently under the heavy Mexican saddle , heavier with silver , made a trifle more endurable by the blanket of velvet or cloth . No Californian walked a dozen rods when he had a horse to carry him . But the horses were not always champing in the square . There was more than one bull-bear fight , and twice a week at least they carried their owners to the hills of the Mission ranch , or the rocky cliffs and gorges above Yerba Buena , the Indian servants following with great baskets of luncheon , perhaps roasting an ox whole in a trench .