They were not the men to destroy the hen that was expected to lay the golden egg.
For hours Hazletine and Jack lolled in this primitive camp, the cowman smoking his pipe most of the time, while the two discussed over and over again the various phases of the momentous business that engaged their thoughts and to which they yearned to devote their utmost energies.

The guide longed to be off, and as the sun descended the heavens it was one of the hardest tasks of his life to restrain his impatience, but he had been trained in a school where patience is one of the greatest of all the virtues.

Suddenly he rose to his feet, stretched his arms and yawned.
"I'd like to borrer that spy-glass of yours fur a few minutes." "You are welcome," replied Jack, slipping the string over his head and passing the instrument to him.

The cowman sauntered off, taking the same direction as before.

His first wish was to learn whether he was still under surveillance.