Over mountain trails, through the day, much of the way had of
necessity been made slowly. Wherever the dusty, irregular roads
had permitted greater speed, the swarthy Mexican who had served
Senor Montez as chauffeur on the trip had opened wide on the speed.
At the end of their long automobile ride Tom and Harry fairly
ached from the jolting they had received.

"There are other beautiful features of this gr-r-rand country
of mine," the Mexican mine owner continued, lighting his second
cigar. "I am a noble, you know, Senor Tomaso. In my veins flows
the noble blood of the hidalgos of good old Spain. My ancestors
came here two hundred and fifty years ago, and ever since, ours
has been truly a Mexican family that has preserved all of the
most worthy traditions of the old Spanish nobles. We are a proud
race, a conquering one. In this part of Bonista, I, like my ancestors,
rule like a war lord."

"You don't have much occupation at that game, do you, senor?"
Tom asked, with an innocent smile.

"That--that--game?" repeated Senor Montez, with a puzzled look
at his young guest.

"The game of war lord," Reade explained. "Mexico is not often
at war, is she?"

"Not since she was forced to fight your country, Senor Tomaso,
as you help to remind me," pursued Montez, without a trace of
offense. "Though I was educated in your country, I confess that,