about 3:30
Over the eastern rim of the Pacific the blue whiteness of the early dawn was turning to a dull , roseate gold at the core of the sunrise . The headlands of Magdalena Bay stood black against the pale glow ; overhead , the greater stars still shone . The monotonous , faint ripple of the creek was the only sound . It was about 3:30 o'clock . Wilbur had imagined that the fight would be hardly more than a wild rush down the slope of the beach , a dash over the beach-combers ' breastworks of sand , and a brief hand-to-hand scrimmage around the old cabin . In all accounts he had ever read of such affairs , and in all ideas he had entertained on the subject , this had always been the case . The two bodies had shocked together like a college rush , there had been five minutes ' play of knife and club and gun , a confused whirl of dust and smoke , and all was over before one had time either to think or be afraid .