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