"Just what I say," replied the latter. "You see, it happened down in
South America, several months ago. We were running a railroad through a
great estate, oh, an enormous estate in the mountains. You could get
about any variation of climate and soil you wanted. Well, there was a
tradition about the place which I heard again and again, and which
gradually grew to haunt my imagination; it was that somewhere on this
estate was a lost mine of stupendous value; and that although no one had
apparently any idea where it might be located, or had succeeded in
finding a trace of it, nevertheless, according to current report, it had
been worked within the last quarter of a century, that is, worked in a
primitive and intermittent sort of way."

"But," interrupted Penfield, "twenty-five years! That of course is within
the memory of dozens of people. What on earth--"

"Wait," said Hayden. "Your part of this game is to listen calmly, not
interrupt. Don't you suppose I considered all those points? Now to go
back into the history of the thing; this is the story that I gathered,
here a little, there a little, and gradually pieced together.

"This vast estate was one of the holdings of a very ancient and noble
Spanish family. It was, as I have said, situated in the mountains, and
naturally comprised great tracts of valueless land, barren and rocky,
although there were also fertile valleys and broad cultivated plateaus. A
great mansion, the home of Don Raimond De Leon, the owner of the estate,
was situated on one of these plateaus and commanded one of the most
beautiful views one could dream of. One gazes down the mountain side on
fields of corn and alfalfa, green as emerald, and orchards of blooming
fruit-trees; down, down these terraces fall until at their feet lie the
tropical valleys with their orange and pineapple groves, and wild,
luxuriant vegetation; and then, one turns and glances upward; above him
the barren mountain sides, the summits austere, remote, covered with
perpetual snow.

"Well, here surrounded by every form of natural scenery, there lived, I
say, this old don and his only daughter, Lolita. Of course she had a name
a mile long, Maria Annunciata Mercedes Eugenie and all the rest, but they
called her Lolita for convenience. The traditions of their rank were
always rigidly maintained. They lived in feudal state and splendor,
occasionally journeying to Spain; and the daughter, in addition to her
beauty, was possessed