. And Harry Hazelton, whom
a seventy-mile ride in an automobile over dusty roads, that day,
had rendered very drowsy, didn't consider an argument worth while.

"Mexico has almost incredible natural wealth," Montez went on,
his voice soft and purring, his eyes glowing with something that
might have passed for pride. "Yet, through all the centuries
that white men have been here, I am confident that not one per
cent. of the country's natural resources has yet been taken from
the ground. Enough wealth lies at man's beck and call to change
the balance of power between the nations of the world. I have
been in your great city, New York. It is a place of tremendous
wealth. Yet, within ten years, gold enough can be taken from
the ground within a radius of twenty miles of here to buy the
whole great city of New York at any sane valuation."

"That purchase would require billions of dollars," broke in the
practical Hazelton.

"But the wealth is here," insisted Senor Montez, still smiling.
"Truly, _caballeros_, as I have told you, this is the land of
golden--"

Again the Mexican paused, eloquently.

"The land of golden eggs?" suggested Harry.

For an instant there was a flash in the Mexican's eyes. Then
the friendly smile reappeared.

"Of course, you jest, senor," he replied, pleasantly.

"Not at all, Senor Montez," Hazelton assured him. "When gold
is so plentiful that it can be picked up everywhere, there must
be a goose at hand that lays golden eggs. Eggs are among the
most common things that we have. When gold nuggets are as large
and as abundant as eggs then we may properly call them golden
eggs."

Senor Montez, flipped away the cigar that he had finished, and
reached for another. This he carefully cut at the end, lighting
it with graceful, elegant deliberation. The Mexican was a
distinguished-looking man above medium height. A little past forty
years of age, he possessed all the agility of a boy of twenty.
Frequently his sudden, agile movements indicated the possession of
unusual strength. Dark, like most of his countrymen, constant
exposure to the tropical sun had made his face almost the color of
mahogany. His carriage was erect, every movement instinctive with
grace. Clad in a white linen suit, with white shoes, he wore on his
head a Panama hat of fine texture and weave.

The house of which the broad veranda was a part, was a low, two-story
affair in stone, painted white. Through the middle of