ten o'clock
They passed him . Their spurs tinkled twice or thrice , their mustangs sprang forward , and the next moment the loose folds of their serapes were fluttering at their sides like wings in their flight . After the chill of a dewless night the morning sun was apt to look ardently upon the Robles Rancho , if so strong an expression could describe the dry , oven-like heat of a Californian coast-range valley . Before ten o'clock the adobe wall of the patio was warm enough to permit lingering vacqueros and idle peons to lean against it , and the exposed annexe was filled with sharp , resinous odors from the oozing sap of unseasoned `` redwood '' boards , warped and drying in the hot sunshine . Even at that early hour the climbing Castilian roses were drooping against the wooden columns of the new veranda , scarcely older than themselves , and mingling an already faded spice with the aroma of baking wood and the more material fragrance of steaming coffee , that seemed dominant everywhere . In fact , the pretty breakfast-room , whose three broad windows , always open to the veranda , gave an al fresco effect to every meal , was a pathetic endeavor of the Southern-bred Peyton to emulate the soft , luxurious , and open-air indolence of his native South , in a climate that was not only not tropical , but even austere in its most fervid moments . Yet , although cold draughts invaded it from the rear that morning , Judge Peyton sat alone , between the open doors and windows , awaiting the slow coming of his wife and the young ladies .