The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior Read online

  Professor Rincon was a friendly, scholarly person who said he knew Senor Maxli Tatloc well, and identified him as one of the two men in the photographic prints. “I have not seen him in a long time, however. Tatloc is a very retiring person and moves often. I believe he has no permanent residence.

  “Tatloc is greatly sought after but hard to find. He spends practically all his time at various ruins and has dug up some very interesting relics. It is strange, but he never bothers to deliver these himself either to government or private museums. He always sends them by messengers.”

  Frank said the boys were eager to locate Tatloc. “But evidently we’ll have a hard time doing it,” he said, smiling.

  “I’m afraid so,” said the professor, “because there are not only the well-known ruins but also many still to be unearthed.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Joe. “I guess we’d better get started on our hunt.”

  Professor Rincon wished the boys luck. “If you find Señor Tatloc, please give him my best regards and tell him I should like him to speak before some of my classes.”

  The three boys went back to their waiting taxi. Frank looked at his wristwatch. “Too late to see any ruins today,” he remarked with a sigh, “but tomorrow let’s hire a car and go to the closest ruin, Teotihuacan.”

  “Isn’t that the place where Mr. Moore took a picture of his friend in costume?” Chet asked.

  “Yes.”

  The Hardys and Chet spent the evening studying the various pictures they had brought and a list of all ruins which were accessible by car.

  “If we don’t have any luck, we’ll try the less accessible ones later,” Joe said.

  Chet was particularly interested in the Teotihuacan ruins, originally the religious center of the Toltecs and later invaded by the Aztecs.

  “This Pyramid of the Sun sure looks high,” he remarked. “You fellows aren’t going to make me climb to the top of that to hunt for a clue to Senor Tatloc, are you?”

  The Hardys grinned, and Joe said, “I promise it’ll take a few pounds off you. But then, I’m not sure you could get to the top without puffing to death.”

  “Listen, I have more extra wind in my lungs than anybody on the Bayport High football team,” Chet declared.

  “You’re absolutely right,” said Frank. “And that’s why you’re elected to climb to the top first and tell us if there’s anything worth going up there to look at!”

  Chet retaliated by picking up a pillow and heaving it at Frank’s head.

  “So you want to get in practice, eh?” Joe asked. “Okay, here goes!”

  For a few minutes pillows flew back and forth until Frank advised the boys to quit before the pillows burst and spread their contents all over the room. Shortly afterward, they went to bed.

  Directly after breakfast Monday morning the three chums went to an automobile rental agency. They chose a convertible and headed for Teotihuacan.

  As it neared noontime, Chet smiled and smacked his lips. “Let’s stop at the Grotto restaurant,” he suggested.

  Frank turned off the road and went to the famous restaurant in a mammoth cave. The Bay-porters found it to be a unique eating place, and thought of the time when some ancient Indian tribe had lived there.

  Chet was about to order a second tamale when Frank cautioned him, “Remember, we have a long climb ahead.” Reluctantly, Chet changed his mind.

  When the boys’ car reached the area of the great four-sided pyramids with their hundreds of shallow steps, the three young visitors stared in wonder. The area was teeming with groups of diggers in various phases of uncovering further buried ruins.

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “We expected to find a ghost city—and instead it’s crowded with archaeologists.”

  Chet looked up at the Pyramid of the Sun in awe. “Boy, this is a lot higher when you’re nearby —it almost reaches the sun! And just to let you know I’m no sissy, I’m going partway to the top.”

  As he started straight up the narrow steps, Joe called out after him, “Hey! Remember the ancient Indians said you should put your feet sideways on the steps and zigzag when you go up or down.”

  Frank and Joe started up in this fashion, but Chet paid no attention to their advice. He had climbed about thirty feet when suddenly one foot slipped. Down he went, clutching wildly at the craggy steps but unable to get a hold. Now he began to roll over and over toward the bottom.

  Joe was some distance away and too far down to help his chum. Frank, closer at hand, tried to stop Chet’s rapid descent. But the tumbling figure knocked him over and the two boys spun down helter-skelter, gathering speed as they went!

  CHAPTER VIII

  Ambushed Detectives

  BRUISED and scraped, Frank and Chet picked themselves up from the foot of the great pyramid. Joe hurried down the steps to see if the boys were all right.

  He was relieved to find they were only dirty and shaken up. “You fellows looked like something out of an old-time comedy routine,” he said, chuckling.

  Chet eyed Joe for a moment, then remarked, “I feel as if I’d been rolling for the past thousand years!”

  Frank heaved a long sigh. “Well, I’m ready to try it again. You guys all set?”

  It took Chet nearly half a minute to decide that he would accompany the Hardys. This time, the boys made the ascent more slowly and finally reached the flat summit. They walked all around it, gazing down in every direction.

  “Boy, what a city this must have been!” Joe said. “All these temples kept people busy building, repairing, and preparing for the human sacrifices.”

  “I read that a hundred thousand people lived here,” Chet spoke up. He pointed off some distance. “That’s the Pyramid of the Moon, isn’t it?” The Hardys nodded.

  The pyramid was similar to the one on which they stood, except it was considerably smaller.

  Frank indicated a temple. “That’s the one built in honor of a foreigner.”

  “What!” Chet cried. “I thought it was erected a thousand years before the Spaniards came here.”

  “It was. Haven’t you heard the legend? It seems a man of fair skin, long beard, and blue eyes arrived from across the ocean—some people say he was riding a plumed serpent and that is why the serpent was sacred to Mexicans in ancient times. This man, whom they called Quetzalcoatl—quetzal for their venerated bird—had knowledge far superior to that of the Indians who were here. He taught them how to build, raise food, and become skilled in the art of stone carving.”

  “Did he live with the Aztecs?” Chet asked.

  “No. He was here long before they came. After his death, the natives made Quetzalcoatl one of their gods.”

  The three boys started zigzagging down the steps of the pyramid. Halfway to the bottom, Joe called out, “Fellows, see that man down there? He looks like the one in our pictures!”

  “Señor Tatloc?” Chet queried.

  “Could be.” Joe nodded as he put on more speed.

  By the time he reached the base of the pyramid, the man was nowhere in sight. Thinking he had gone to another side of the pyramid, the trio sprinted along the base until they came to a corner, and turned down the side. Still the stranger was not to be seen.

  The Hardys and Chet circled the base of the tremendous structure, but he had vanished.

  Chet dropped to the ground, exhausted. “I just knew I was letting myself in for something,” he panted. “It would have been much easier walking around Mexico City in my Aztec costume.”

  Frank and Joe did not answer. They were pretty winded themselves. Finally Joe remarked, “Those old Aztecs sure had lung power.”

  Frank suggested that perhaps the stranger they sought had gone to another pyramid. The boys went to their car and drove first to the Pyramid of the Moon. The man was not there, so they set off for the Temple of Quetzalcoatl.

  They went completely around the pyramid, scanning the steps and the ground for a glimpse of the elusive man.

  Frank frowned. “That prob
ably was Senor Tatloc. Since he’s such a retiring person he would have hurried away when he saw us.”

  “That’s just great,” said Chet. “If he takes off every time we spot him, how are we ever going to talk to him?” The stout boy sighed. “Oh, well, maybe the guy we saw wasn’t Tatloc, anyway.”

  The boys spent the next hour examining the weird carvings on the temple. There were huge heads of serpents with open jaws and wicked-looking teeth. Interspersed among the stone reptiles were heads, which they figured represented the god Quetzalcoatl.

  “He has on a flat top hat,” said Chet with a grin, and added, “That must have been the style during the period he was a human—not so fancy as the ones the Aztecs wore later.”

  The three visitors marveled at the number of carvings which stretched not only along the base of the pyramid but in rows up the sides.

  “Do you suppose,” said Frank, “that Mr. Moore’s slides indicate we’ll find a clue here to the Aztec warrior object? This is certainly the place where he took one picture.”

  Joe surveyed the huge temple. “If you mean some letter or document is hidden in one of these carvings, it would take us at least a month to search for them.”

  The Hardys decided that they could always come back to the Temple of Quetzalcoatl. In the meantime, they would search at various other ruins to find Senor Tatloc.

  The boys drove away. As they neared the outskirts of Mexico City, Chet proposed that they eat at a real Mexican restaurant. He directed the way to a long narrow building. Frank found a parking place some distance down the street.

  The restaurant had booths for four on each side of a wide aisle. A man in a black velvet, gold-embroidered, tight-fitting suit and a large black hat which he wore at a rakish angle was playing a guitar at the rear of the restaurant. Couples were dancing in the aisles.

  The three boys were shown to a booth. After looking over the menu they ordered bean soup, roast chicken without the chocolate pepper sauce, and totopos—an American-type frito served with a sauce made of mashed avocado, boiled tomato, olive oil, onion, salt, and lemon.

  “Mm, this hits me just right,” said Chet, after sampling all the dishes.

  At that moment the music stopped. The hungry boys ate rather than talked and could plainly hear the chatter around them. Suddenly the Hardys detected a voice in the booth behind them asking the waiter in Spanish to find out the boys’ destination. It occurred to the Hardys that the man might belong to the kidnapping gang!

  Frank, who had the aisle seat, leaned out and looked around. Four men occupied the booth. One, young with an evil-looking face, was handing the waiter a tip. Instantly Frank drew back and put a finger to his lips as a sign for Joe and Chet to let him do the talking.

  When the waiter reached the boys’ booth, he asked Frank in Spanish where the boys were going.

  “I don’t understand,” Frank said vaguely.

  By signs and gestures the waiter tried his best to get the message across. At last he shrugged, gave up, and went back to the other booth. He reported that the boys did not speak Spanish.

  The three chums grinned and tried to hear the conversation of the inquirer and his friends. But the men had dropped their voices to whispers.

  In turn Frank lowered his, saying, “Maybe these men aren’t part of the gang, but just plain thugs out to rob us. If they follow us from the restaurant, we can be sure they’re up to no good.”

  “What’ll we do?” Chet quavered.

  “How about giving them the old football rush?” Joe suggested.

  To the Hardys’ surprise, the episode took away Chet’s appetite. He not only did not finish the food in front of him, but refused dessert.

  “Players shouldn’t eat much before a game, anyhow,” Joe remarked. “Let’s go!”

  The three boys had barely reached the sidewalk when the four men from the booth started after them. Chet and the Hardys walked fast, thinking that if they could reach the car, then they could make it safely to the hotel.

  The men behind them apparently anticipated the boys’ plan and decided to act in a hurry. As the young sleuths reached an alleyway, the four men converged on them. Instantly the Americans were forced into the dark alley!

  CHAPTER IX

  Iguana Scare

  To THE surprise of the Mexicans, the Hardys and Chet instantly turned around and rushed at them like battering rams. Chet knocked out one man, and he fell to the cobblestone pavement.

  The Hardys’ fists flew and their arms flailed with telling blows. The other three Mexicans were so thunderstruck that within seconds they gave up the fight and fled down the dark alley.

  Joe started after them, but Frank grabbed his brother’s arm. “We don’t know what’s down there. The men may have reinforcements.”

  Joe paused. “Anyway, we have one captive for the police.”

  By this time a small crowd had gathered, and an officer pushed his way through. Frank explained what had happened.

  The man on the ground, who was beginning to regain consciousness, was dragged by his arms out to the sidewalk. In the street light the policeman recognized him.

  “This man is a wanted local hoodlum,” the officer said. “He and his friends prey on tourists.” Looking at the Hardys and Chet, the policeman added, “You boys certainly defended yourselves well.” He smiled. “You are athletic—maybe you should train to become matadors!”

  The three boys laughed and Chet said, “No thank you. I’ll stick to football. I don’t want to ram into anything with horns.”

  The dejected hoodlum, still in a somewhat groggy state, was marched to a police sedan. Frank, Joe, and Chet were requested to go along in their own car and tell their story to the officer in charge.

  When the boys arrived at headquarters, Chief Diaz was there. He was not on duty but had dropped in to pick up some papers. When he heard the story of the encounter, the officer beamed at them.

  “Bravo!” he said. “We could use more of your kind here to help us discipline our lawbreakers.”

  Chief Diaz waited until the boys had made a formal charge against their attackers, then he walked outside with them.

  “I have been trying to reach you boys on the phone to tell you something,” he said. “A few hours ago I heard a rumor that an archaeologist had just made a great discovery at Monte Alban. I wondered if he might be the man you’re looking for.”

  “Señor Tatloc?” Frank asked.

  “No one knows,” the officer answered. “The report was that a traveler had arrived in town with the information. He said the archaeologist did not wish to be identified. I’m inclined to think he may be Senor Tatloc.”

  “Then we shouldn’t waste any time getting down to those ruins and looking for him,” Joe said eagerly.

  The Hardys queried the chief further about what the discovery was. His information was scanty. The traveler who had reported the news had not revealed the nature of the find.

  The archaeologist probably was still at Monte Alban, looking for other treasures of antiquity. If he were Senor Tatloc, the boys had a good chance of locating him!

  “It’s pretty late to start for the ruins tonight,” Frank remarked. “I hear there’s a long detour through the mountains. Suppose we get up early tomorrow. With steady driving we should be there by evening.”

  When the boys reached their hotel room, they studied the map and decided to stop at Oaxaca, a small city three hundred and fifty miles south-east of Mexico City.

  “We’ll stay at a hotel there,” Frank said, “then go out to Monte Alban.”

  The young detectives got an early start but found plenty of traffic on the Pan-American Highway. In a couple of hours they had to branch off onto secondary roads through the mountains. There were sharp curves which Frank took carefully, sounding his horn frequently. Approaching drivers, apparently familiar with the road, did not bother to warn of their approach and whizzed around the corners at breakneck speed.

  “Whew!” cried Chet, as a car narrowly misse
d them. “That driver must have hot tamales in his engine!”

  The boys found the scenery gorgeous. Mountains were rugged, steep, and often merely bare granite rock. Some were gray in color, reminding the boys of those they were used to seeing in the Bayport area. But a great many cliffs were pink and in the dazzling sunlight stood out like rare paintings.

  Joe was particularly impressed with the cacti. There were many varieties—from the low-growing, tulip-shaped maguey to the mammoth candle cactus. This resembled a giant green-and-silver candelabra with very tall candles of the same color.

  Once the travelers came to a plateau on which grew a cactus orchard.

  “Hey! Wait a minute!” Chet cried out.

  Frank pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Chet pointed to a Mexican, wearing an enormous sombrero, who was kneeling on the ground, his face buried in one of the cactus plants.

  “I guess he’s having a drink,” said Joe. “Shall we all go over and get one?”

  “I’m not sure we should drink raw cactus juice,” Frank said, “but let’s talk to the man anyway.”

  As the boys drew closer, they were astounded to see what the Mexican was doing. As he raised his head from the plant, he held a long brown thorn in his teeth. To it was attached what looked like a stout white thread. To the boys’ amazement, the man kept tugging like a bird pulling a worm from the soil. In a few moments he stood up with a thread a yard long dangling from the thorn, which the boys now could see was as sharp on the end as a needle.

  “Buenos dias,” said Frank. He continued in Spanish, “We are curious to know what you intend to do with this.”

  The Mexican grinned. “My good wife will mend my clothes with it,” he said. “Cactus thread is very strong.” The man demonstrated by pushing the cactus needle through his shirt as if he were sewing. “Would you like to take this with you for a souvenir?” he asked.

  “Gracias,” said Frank. “We may need it!”

  “You know about the cactus plant?” the man asked. “Every part of it is used—from the leaves we make thatched roofs for our huts and fibers to weave cloth. In the desert many weary travelers have stayed alive by drinking cactus juice.”