the hour of three
But Benton had other observances for its boisterous display of spirits , the origin of which no one seemed to know , but which were participated in each year by the new generation of youths , with careful observance of tradition . There were the `` Horribles , '' for example , not to have ridden in which at some time of one 's life was to have left one page blank . The procession of `` Horribles , '' otherwise known as `` Ragamuffins , '' usually started at about six in the morning , marching through the streets until nine ; -- by which time the endurance of a youth who had been out all night usually came to an end . Now , as the hour of three was passed , certain eager and impatient aspirants for first place in the line began to make their appearance on horseback in the streets of Benton , clattering about on steeds that had never before known a saddle ; weird figures , masked uncouthly in pasteboard representations of Indians , animals and what-not , and clad in every sort of costume , from rags to ancient uniforms -- a noisy , tatterdemalion band , blowing horns and discharging firearms . There was Tim Reardon , mounted on an aged truck horse , that drooped its head and ambled with half-closed eyes , as though it might at any moment fall off to sleep again . Sticking like a monkey to its bare back was Tim , his face hidden behind a monstrous mask , his head surmounted by a battered silk hat , extracted from a convenient refuse heap ; a fish-horn slung about his neck by a string . There was Henry Burns , with face blackened and a huge wooden tomahawk at his belt ; he , likewise , astride , on one of Mr. Harris 's work horses .