The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “We sure did,” Joe told him. “Thanks for saving our necks.”

  Suddenly Chet began to wobble. The Hardys grabbed him and insisted that they go back to the hotel at once. Supporting him again, they made the trek to their car. For a moment Frank was worried that their unknown assailants might have tampered with the automobile. To his relief, as soon as he turned on the ignition, the motor roared to life.

  As they started off, all three boys wondered what the mysterious assailants had hoped to accomplish. Were they part of the gang looking for the valuable Aztec warrior and still harassing the threesome to keep them from proceeding with their detective work?

  “Whoever they were,” said Chet, “you Hardys were too smart for them. I’m sorry I fouled you up and you couldn’t find out about that light on top of the pyramid. Do you suppose those gangsters hide out up there?”

  “I doubt it,” said Frank. “It would be too noticeable. Maybe some of our questions can be answered if we come back tomorrow and search Monte Alban in the daylight.”

  Chet said nothing. His head ached, and he felt a little dizzy. “Bed sure will feel good,” he said. He did not mention that he hoped Frank and Joe would make the trip by themselves the following day.

  Actually the Hardys had the same idea. But they decided to wait until morning before saying anything to Chet.

  When they reached their hotel room, the dazed boy dropped onto his bed. “I think I’ll sleep with my clothes on,” he said. “Too much trouble to take ’em off.” His voice faded.

  “We’ll do it,” the Hardys offered.

  First, they removed his jacket and hung it up. Next came his shoes and socks, then his trousers.

  As Frank unbuttoned Chet’s sport shirt, a wadded piece of paper fell to the floor.

  Frank picked it up. “What’s this?” he asked.

  Chet, who had closed his eyes, responded sleepily, “What’s what?”

  “This piece of paper you wadded up and put inside your shirt.”

  “I didn’t put anything in my shirt,” Chet insisted.

  Eagerly Joe grabbed the paper and smoothed it out. Printed boldly in Spanish was a warning. Joe blinked, but refrained from reading it aloud, not wishing to disturb Chet any further.

  Frank sensed that his brother had found something important but waited. The stout boy had become drowsy again and said nothing more about the paper. The Hardys finished undressing him and put on his pajamas. Within another thirty seconds, Chet was fast asleep.

  Frank counted his friend’s pulse beat. “He’s okay, Joe.”

  Quickly moving to the bureau where Joe had laid the paper, Frank gasped in astonishment. The message read:

  Yankees go home. You cannot steal any of our treasures. If you disobey, you will lose your lives!

  CHAPTER XII

  “Five Rabbit”

  IN whispers, so they would not awaken Chet, Frank and Joe discussed the strange warning.

  “I think we should take it to the local police,” said Frank.

  At the hotel desk Joe asked the manager if it would be safe for them to be on the streets alone at this hour of night. Mr. Perez looked at them in surprise and said that Oaxaca was a very fine town with excellent police protection.

  “No offense intended,” said Joe, “My brother and I were attacked recently in Mexico City.”

  “Oh, I understand now.” Mr. Perez smiled. “You wish to go to a restaurant?”

  “We may drop in for a midnight snack,” said Joe, not wishing to give his real reason for going out. “If we get into any trouble, we’ll make a beeline to police headquarters.” He grinned. “Where is it, by the way?”

  Mr. Perez gave them directions and the boys set off. At headquarters they told the officer on duty, Captain Valero, what had happened to Chet and themselves at the Monte Alban ruins.

  The officer frowned. “I am sorry you were subjected to this indignity. Did you bring the paper with you?”

  Frank handed it to Captain Valero, who read it several times. Finally he spoke up. “There’s a band of young reactionaries in this area, I am sorry to say, and this may be more of their work. Their motives are perhaps laudable, but they should not try to act independently of the law.”

  Frank and Joe, puzzled, asked what the young men did.

  Captain Valero replied, “They are against visitors from your country and from every other nation. They have an idea that sightseers come here for the sole purpose of stealing our relics. As you know, there is a law that anything of value found in Mexico must be turned over to our government. The presentation is often made to a museum.” He smiled. “Our State Museum here in Oaxaca has a priceless collection of artifacts. You must visit it.”

  “But it isn’t true that all visitors from the United States come here with theft in mind,” Joe protested.

  “The authorities know that,” the captain stated, “but it is difficult to persuade hotheaded young men that they are wrong in the methods they use to carry out their fanaticism.”

  Frank changed the subject. “Joe and I are down here looking for two men. That is why we went out to the ruins. Do you happen to know a Roberto Hermosa or a Señor Tatloc?”

  “I have not heard of Roberto Hermosa. Senor Tatloc is an archaeologist, yes?” As the boys nodded, Captain Valero went on, “I have heard that some famous archaeologist—I don’t know the name—was working at Monte Alban. Perhaps he is Señor Tatloc, but I cannot say for sure.”

  The police officer paused a few moments, then said, “I am afraid I have not been of much help to you boys. But I wish you luck in your quest. In the meantime, I will keep this note. It will be very good evidence against this overpatriotic, troublesome young group, if they are guilty. I must warn you that they can be dangerous. But you have already found that out.”

  The Hardys said they would be on guard and report any further trouble to the police. As the brothers walked back to the hotel, they discussed the young zealots. Were they sincere in their motives, or had they perhaps, undercover, been doing a job for the men who were trying to find the Aztec warrior?

  “I can hardly wait for morning to come so we can get back to Monte Alban,” said Joe. “I have a hunch we’re going to get a break in this mystery at last.”

  “I sure hope that you’re right,” Frank answered.

  The boys passed a food shop which was still open and went inside. Their night’s adventure had made them hungry, and they also figured that when Chet woke up, he would be ravenous. They purchased three large enchiladas and took them along, together with three bottles of soda.

  Chet was still asleep, so the brothers set the food on his night table. They ate their own midnight snack and then went to bed. When the Hardys opened their eyes the next morning, Chet was sitting up in bed reading a magazine, munching his enchilada, and drinking soda.

  “Hi, you lazy guys!” he said with a pretended look of reproach. “Forget you had an invalid on your hands?”

  The Hardys grinned. “Want to ride to breakfast in a wheel chair?” Joe quipped.

  Despite his early-morning snack, Chet ate a breakfast of fruit, cereal, eggs, bacon, and two big rolls. The Hardys told him about the warning note, their talk with the hotel manager, and visit to police headquarters.

  Their friend gulped. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know about those guys’ reasons for hitting me last night,” he said, “or I wouldn’t have slept a wink. Things are dangerous enough! You fellows aren’t going out to Monte Alban again, I hope.”

  “We sure are,” Frank told him. “Aren’t you coming along?”

  “Now listen,” Chet said, “I’m not chicken, but I don’t aim to walk right smack into the middle of big trouble. I got a pretty bad whack on the head, don’t forget. You haven’t mentioned my goose egg, but believe me, it’s plenty sore. Tell you what. Why don’t I stay in town and go to the State Museum? I might see something in their collection that would give us a clue.”

  “Okay,” Frank agreed. “See you later.” />
  After he left, Frank and Joe decided to telephone their father and give him a full report. They also wanted to find out how he had progressed with his end of the case of the Aztec warrior.

  “Hello, Dad!” said the brothers, taking turns with the phone in their bedroom.

  Frank brought the detective up to date on what had happened in Mexico, then Joe asked what luck their father had had.

  “Practically none,” Mr. Hardy replied. “Sam Radley and I have been over the grounds of the Moore estate several times but haven’t found anything to help solve the case.” Sam Radley, Mr. Hardy’s assistant, was an ace detective himself.

  Frank and Joe learned that the only new thing which had been found was another marking on the same tree where the boys had found the carving of the Aztec warrior’s head.

  “There was a tiny arrow—barely noticeable—near the base of the trunk,” Mr. Hardy explained. “Sam and I assume that it might be a guide to something Mr. Moore had buried. We dug pretty deep in several places, but we didn’t find anything.” The detective chuckled. “We’re not giving up, though!”

  Frank asked whether there had been any more intruders at the Moore home. The answer was no. “So far as we can discover, there has been no disturbance at the estate, but the police are keeping a close watch. As you boys know, sometimes a criminal will lie low, hoping to discourage his pursuers. When he thinks he’s safe, he’ll strike again. Well, watch your step, boys. If you turn up anything worthwhile, give me a ring right away.”

  The brothers promised they would and hung up. After purchasing a booklet on Monte Alban at the hotel newsstand, they set off for the ruins.

  In the daylight they could see that the ancient city was even more extensive than they had realized the night before. Of particular interest was an astronomical observatory, around which were grouped a series of mammoth structures containing immense palaces and courtyards.

  A court the size of a football field on the far side of the central plaza caught the boys’ attention. To reach it they had to climb up and down a series of steps.

  “According to this guidebook, the Indians played a game called ‘tiachtli’—a combination of our basketball and soccer,” said Frank. “They never touched the ball with their hands, only with their shoulders, knees, and feet. The ball had to go through stone rings built high in the side walls.”

  “Boy, that would really take some doing!” Joe exclaimed.

  “Listen to this,” Frank went on, “and be glad you didn’t live when that game was played. Members of the losing team were put to death!”

  “Wow! Sounds more like a battle!” Joe commented. “Well, I’ve had enough sightseeing. Let’s go back to that building where we saw the light last night.”

  When the brothers reached it, they looked all around for lurking figures, but spotted no one. Quickly they zigzagged to the flat top and scanned the level area below. Nothing extraordinary met their scrutiny.

  “If anybody was here,” said Frank, “he has certainly packed up and left.”

  Joe remarked, “Do you suppose those men who tried to attack us came and kidnapped the person?”

  Frank did not reply. He had suddenly seen something unusual lying not far away and hurried over to it. Joe followed, and the boys walked around the object—a broken-off chunk of stone. It measured about two by three feet, and was four inches thick. The slab had once been a perfect oblong, but now the upper right-hand corner was gone. On the stone was a carved figure wearing quilted armor, feathered headdress, and ear and lip ornaments. Beneath this was picture writing.

  “That’s an Aztec warrior!” Joe cried excitedly.

  “Exactly!” Frank agreed. “I wonder if it has any significance for us and how valuable it is.”

  “Say, Frank!” his brother exclaimed. “Maybe this is the valuable find the traveler reported!”

  “Could be. But if Senor Tatloc discovered this, why would he have gone away without it?”

  “Beats me,” replied Joe. “I don’t think we should leave it here.”

  “Right.”

  The stone, while heavy, was not impossible for the boys to carry. The only thing which worried them at the moment was getting down the steps without damaging the relic. They found it necessary to pause several times in their descent and lay the stone aside.

  During one of these periods, Frank took a magnifying glass from his pocket and scrutinized the various symbols on the stone. He smiled. “This thing down in the corner that’s almost worn away is a rabbit.”

  “A rabbit?” Joe repeated.

  “I suppose it means that the warrior in this carving was getting ready to offer it as a sacrifice. He has his arms spread out in front of him as if in supplication.”

  The brothers finally reached the base of the pyramid and started their trek to the car. As they passed the place where Chet had been left unconscious the evening before, Joe remarked, “The guidebook says this is Tomb Number Seven, the one from which so many priceless objects were removed to the State Museum.” He chuckled. “Wait until I tell Chet he was buried alive!”

  “He’ll laugh about it now,” said Frank, “but it was no fun being sealed up like a sardine in this place!”

  The boys went on to the car. While Joe held onto the unusual stone relic on the rear seat, Frank drove back to Oaxaca and went directly to the museum.

  The brothers carried their find into the reception hall and asked for the curator. He came at once, and they showed him the slab.

  “We found this at Monte Alban,” Frank explained. “We don’t know whether it’s valuable or not.”

  The curator, Mr. Louis Juan, asked the Hardys to carry the stone into his office. They laid it on the floor. The man produced a magnifying glass and, kneeling, went over the stone inch by inch

  The boys waited impatiently for his analysis. Mr. Juan, trained in spotting the difference between ancient relics and faked ones, showed no reaction for fully five minutes. Then he stood up and faced his visitors.

  “This is remarkable! Absolutely remarkable!” he said.

  The Hardys blinked and asked him to tell them why.

  The curator explained that the suppliant figure was indeed an Aztec warrior. “He probably was offering a prayer to the war god Huitzilopochtli. That figure no doubt was broken off.”

  “And what do the rabbit and the little circles around it stand for?” Frank questioned.

  “They represent the date. It is the Aztec year ‘five rabbit.’ That is 1510 according to our calendar.”

  The Hardys were astounded. “That’s even better than we hoped for,” said Frank.

  The boys were more convinced than ever that this valuable find must have been made by the elusive Senor Tatloc. Would he now be deprived of the credit for having unearthed it? And what had become of him? Had he met with foul play?

  Mr. Juan was speaking again. “This relic is outstanding because it proves that there was Aztec influence at Monte Alban as far back as 1510. The city there was founded by the Zapotecs, who were later conquered by the Mixtecs, and whether or not the Aztecs left any impression has been debatable.”

  “The name Mexico comes from the Mixtecs, doesn’t it?” Joe asked.

  The curator nodded. “Until now, we have never had any solid proof of Aztec warriors having come this far south. Boys, I congratulate you on uncovering this valuable object.”

  Frank and Joe insisted that they had merely picked the stone up. “Somebody else discovered it,” Frank added.

  “And we strongly suspect that it was found by the archaeologist Senor Tatloc,” Joe added.

  Mr. Juan thought their supposition very interesting. He said that if Senor Tatloc had found the stone, he certainly would receive credit for it. The Hardys, already worried about the safety of the archaeologist, felt that now they had an additional reason for finding him as quickly as possible.

  “We’d like to locate Senor Tatloc,” said Frank. “Can you give us any leads, Mr. Juan?”

  The cu
rator shook his head. “That man is like a recluse. We have several very fine relics here which he has sent, but he has never brought any of them himself and refuses to appear in person for any kind of honors.”

  Before leaving, the Hardys asked the man whether their friend Chet Morton had visited the museum.

  “Is he rather heavy-set?” Mr. Juan asked. When they nodded, he said, “Yes, your friend was here. In fact, he told me proudly that he had made a great discovery!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  A Charging Bull

  “WHAT’S your guess about Chet’s discovery?” Frank asked his brother as they hurried back to their hotel. To the brothers’ disappointment, he was not there nor had any message been left for the Hardys.

  “Chet probably went off to try out another loony idea like that Indian costume bit,” Joe said. “When that door opens, be ready for anything!”

  As time wore on and Chet did not return, Frank and Joe ceased to joke about it. They became alarmed. There was a good possibility that a member of one of the gangs stalking the boys had captured him. The enemy could be Jack Wayne’s kidnapper; the fake detective who had jumped into the boys’ taxi; the ringleader, Jimenez; the alley hoodlums looking for revenge; or the overzealous young patriots might have followed Chet and managed to trap him.

  A few minutes later Joe said, “It’s lunchtime, but I don’t feel like eating.”

  “Same here,” Frank agreed. “Perhaps we should get in touch with the police and tell them about Chet.”

  Joe had another theory about Chet’s absence. “He might have seen one of our enemies on the street and followed him.”

  Frank disagreed. “Chet’s a good scout and a big help to us, but I don’t think he’d trail a criminal by himself, especially in a country he doesn’t know.”

  As the brothers paced the room trying to make up their minds what to do, the door opened. They heaved sighs of relief. Chet wore a broad grin, so they knew he was all right.

  “What’s the point of scaring us half to death?” Frank berated him.

  The scolding failed to erase the smile from Chet’s face. As he unwrapped the package he carried, he said: