about six o'clock
The people who live in it always dignify it by that name and they probably have a reason for so doing . To one holding advanced ideas as to towns , it seems at a first glance to be only a collection of pinkish looking adobes which on inspection turn out to be a church , a store , a jail , a saloon , a hotel -- at which no one stays who has a friend to take him in -- and some private houses . It is Juarez without the bull ring , the racetrack or the gambling places . It is situated rather flatly between two ranges of mountains and when Polly Street landed there at about six o'clock -- a trying hour in itself -- it was in the grip of a sand-storm . One 's first sand-storm is always a surprise . It looks so innocent from behind a window pane ; just sand -- blowing about rather swiftly , whirling in spirals , beating against the glass , piling itself up in drifts -- an interesting sight but not a terrifying one . Polly had been a little surprised to see the fat ladies array themselves in goggles before descending from the train , and had laughingly refused an offer of his own from Juan Pachuca , who promptly put them on himself .