"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, at times, your language still baffles me. What I meant to say was not 'war lord,' but—but—"
"Over lord?" suggested Reade, politely.
"Ah, yes! Perhaps that better expresses what I mean. In Mexico we have laws, senor, to be sure. But they are not for caballeros like myself—not for men who can boast of the blood of Spanish hidalgos. I am master over these people for many miles around. Absolute master! Think you any judge would dare sign a process against me, and send peon officers of the law to interfere with me? No! As I tell you, I, Luis Montez, am the sole master here among the mountains. We have laws for the peons (working class), but I—I make my own laws."
"Does it take much of your time, may I ask?"
"Does what take much of my time?" repeated Senor Montez, again looking puzzled.
"Law making," explained Tom Reade.