The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “While I was over at the museum this morning, I saw something that gave me an idea. It was an ancient dagger with a serpent’s head for a handle. I got to thinking about our Aztec warrior. Mr. Moore was a collector of weapons. Why couldn’t the thing we’re looking for be a dagger with an Aztec warrior’s head for a handle?”

  The Hardys stared at their friend. This was good reasoning.

  “Chet, I think you’ve hit the bull’s-eye this time,” said Frank.

  Joe added, “You sure were using your old noggin.”

  Chet beamed as he finished unwrapping the package. He threw down the paper and held up a dagger.

  “Pretty neat, eh?” he asked. “This should solve the mystery.”

  The Hardys examined the dagger eagerly. The blade was made of stone and very sharp, with a wooden handle carved in the form of an Aztec warrior’s head. The whole thing measured about fifteen inches.

  “This is great, Chet!” said Joe. “Where on earth did you ... ?”

  The door to their room suddenly burst open. Two men raced in and one cried, “Give me that!”

  Wayne’s kidnapper and the phony detective!

  The kidnapper wrenched the weapon from Frank’s hand and the two intruders backed toward the doorway.

  “You can’t get away with this!” Frank warned. “We know who you are!”

  “You think so?” said the man with the dagger.

  “You’re Jack Wayne’s kidnapper!” exclaimed Joe. He turned to the other man. “And you’re the fake detective who got into our taxi in Mexico City!”

  The accused men gave a start but made no move to hand over the dagger. Instead, the kidnapper held it pointed menacingly toward the boys until the men were in the hall. As he pulled the door shut, the “detective” warned, “Don’t try to follow us or you’ll get hurt!”

  The Hardys disregarded the threat. Frank whipped open the door and the three young sleuths dashed down the corridor after the fleeing men. The thieves took a back stairway, which the boys had not noticed before. Grabbing the banister, they leaped down two and three steps at a time. But even at this speed, the men they were after were quicker. The pair dashed out into a courtyard. Here they were lost to view amid dense flowering shrubs and trees.

  Frank, in the lead, finally spotted the men heading for an open gate to a side street. It was part of an iron picket fence.

  “Stop them!” Joe shouted.

  Near the gate stood a tall earthenware jardiniere. As Frank drew closer to the men, the kidnapper upended the jardiniere and rolled it directly toward the boy.

  Though he, Joe, and Chet managed to leap over it, the momentary delay had been costly. The men had disappeared down the side street. Their pursuers made a minute search but could not locate the thieves.

  “Tough luck!” said Joe in disgust.

  “All my work for nothing!” Chet complained.

  Frank said he would report the incident to the police at once, then he wanted to hear the full story of the dagger from Chet. Ten minutes later they found a quiet table in the hotel dining room where they could talk in private.

  “You wouldn’t use my Aztec costume,” Chet began, “but I thought maybe this dagger would help you. When I was in the costume store, I admired some carvings and got the name of the man who had done them. He lives here in Oaxaca. I went over to his shop later this morning and told him what I wanted. He said he wasn’t busy and would make it for me cheap. I thought he’d only carve the head, and I’d have to hunt for the blade myself. But he had an old stone blade that he was going to put a handle on when he had a chance. So he let me have it.”

  Frank asked, “What made those thieves think it was the real thing? And how’d they find out you were bringing it?”

  Joe answered, “I believe we’re being shadowed. Those men were listening outside the door. From what little they heard of the conversation they assumed we had the valuable object and took it.”

  He was interrupted by the waitress. The boys glanced at the menu. “What are chalutas?” Joe asked.

  She explained that they were small tortillas folded over chicken, with peas, carrots, lettuce, tomato, and then fried.

  “Stop them!” Joe shouted

  “That’s for me,” said Chet. “And I’ll have some hot chocolate with cinnamon,” he added, smacking his lips.

  “Make it three,” Joe added with a grin. After the waitress had left, Chet continued his story. “It was really great watching that wood carver. Boy, was he fast! I thought maybe I wouldn’t have the dagger until tomorrow.” Chet heaved a great sigh. “And now I don’t have it at all!”

  “Never mind,” said Joe. “Let’s be glad it wasn’t the real object Mr. Moore mentioned in his will. But if those thieves think it is, maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

  “And when they learn the truth, they’ll come after us again,” Frank predicted.

  “In the meantime they’ll probably try to sell it,” said Joe.

  Frank remarked that if the local police had put out a net for the kidnapper and the fake detective, officers should be able to pick them up before they had a chance to dispose of the dagger.

  “Those thieves are pretty tricky,” Joe reminded him. “They probably were a long distance away from here before the police could start looking for them.”

  The delicious food seemed to put Chet in better spirits. He asked what the Hardys were going to do next.

  Frank slapped his chum on the arm. “Right now we’re going to follow Detective Morton’s clue and look for an ancient dagger with a handle in the shape of an Aztec warrior!”

  Chet beamed broadly at Frank. “You mean it? My clue was that good?”

  “It’s worth tracking down,” Frank replied. “As soon as we finish eating, I’m going to phone Dad and tell him about your theory.”

  Chet stuck out his chest so far he almost burst a button off his shirt. All three boys laughed.

  They went back to their room and put in the long-distance call. Fortunately, Mr. Hardy was still at home. He was very much interested in the boys’ new theory and advised pursuing this angle.

  Frank told Mr. Hardy about the discovery of the stone relic and of the Oaxaca curator’s great excitement over it.

  “Excellent!” the detective said. “Keep going at that rate, and I’m sure you boys will solve the mystery in no time.”

  With this encouragement, the boys decided to question people along the alleyway into which the dagger thieves had fled. Maybe, Frank said, they could pick up some clues. Since no word had come from the police, the boys assumed the men had not been found.

  The three sleuths went down the back stairway and through the courtyard to the cobblestone alley behind it. They walked along slowly toward one of the main avenues, questioning a few people looking out of second-floor windows. None of them had noticed the fugitives. Just before reaching the end of the narrow street, they heard warning shouts.

  “Wonder what’s up?” said Chet.

  A moment later the three boys stopped short. A snorting, angry bull had entered the alley and was thundering directly toward them!

  CHAPTER XIV

  A Matador’s Clue

  TERRIFIED, the Hardys and Chet whirled about to flee from the charging bull. They could hear its angry snorting directly back of them.

  “We must get to the hotel courtyard!” cried Frank.

  He had noticed that all of the open first-floor windows and doors along the alley were barred. There was no chance for the boys to dive to safety through any of them.

  The trio had an added moment of panic when Chet stumbled on the cobblestones. But he caught himself, and they went on. By this time the commotion and shouting from people looking out the second-floor windows had spurred the bull on to frantic speed.

  Fortunately the gates to the hotel patio were open. The three boys dashed inside, and Frank slammed the gate shut.

  They were just in time. The maddened bull pulled up short, eyed the boys malevolently, then continued on
down the alley.

  “Boy, I never want to go through that again!” said Chet, dropping to the ground and panting.

  The Hardys heaved sighs of relief. Frank said, “I wonder where the bull is now.”

  “Let’s go find out,” Joe proposed.

  He opened the gate and looked cautiously down the narrow street. The bull was not in sight, but the boys could hear cries of excitement. Quickly they ran in the direction of the shouts. On the way they saw a young Mexican rush from a house. He was carrying a red cloak and a sword.

  “He must be a matador!” Joe guessed.

  Excitedly the boys hurried after him. The way led to the zócalo, where people were running helter-skelter to get away from the animal. Suddenly the angry bull halted, swinging its head from side to side, its horns lowered.

  One of the fleeing bystanders spotted the young matador and shouted, “Roberto! Roberto.” Others in the crowd called out to him.

  Without hesitation, the matador sheathed his sword with the red cloak and walked slowly toward the bull. As it charged toward him, he adroitly swung the cloak and side-stepped the animal. The bull trotted off a short distance, then turned back.

  Once more, Roberto walked toward it with short, steady steps. The animal stood still and glared. Suddenly it lowered its horns again and made a lunge for the matador. Several women screamed, fearful that the man would be gored!

  Roberto gracefully swung his cloak and pivoted to one side. The bull’s horns hit the earth and he gave a loud bellow.

  “Olé! Olé!” the crowd shouted in praise of the matador’s expert move.

  As the frustrated beast came toward him, Roberto suddenly pulled out his sword. Frank, Joe, and Chet experienced a sickening sensation -evidently the bull was now to be dispatched. As the crowd watched tensely, a shout came from the edge of the zócalo.

  A man appeared, crying out, “Do not kill the bull!”

  He carried a lariat in his hands. The next moment it snaked out neatly. The immense loop at one end settled down over the bull and was quickly jerked tight. The animal dropped helplessly to the ground, writhing and snorting.

  “Pretty clever!” said Frank.

  The beast was pulled to the edge of the zócalo, where a truck was parked. The tailgate was down, and quickly the animal was pulled aboard. Then the gate was fastened and the lasso removed from the bull’s legs.

  Frank, Joe, and Chet exchanged pleased grins that no harm had come to the animal.

  Chet remarked, “We sure had a front-row seat to a bullfight that time!”

  The man with the lasso explained to the curious crowd that he was driving the animal to a farm outside of town. When the Mexican had stopped for a traffic light, the tailgate had become unfastened and fallen down. The bull had immediately escaped.

  “I would have put a ring in his nose and tied him to the side of the truck,” the man said ruefully, “but I was hoping to enter him in a bullfight and did not want to mar him.”

  As the bull’s owner drove off, Frank nudged his companions. “Let’s go talk to that matador, Roberto, and find out his last name.”

  The boys pushed their way through the crowd to the center of the zócalo where the young matador was receiving congratulations from bystanders.

  “Great performance,” said Frank, smiling. “By the way, what is your last name?”

  The young Mexican grinned. “My full name is Roberto Hermosa Alberto Sanchez.”

  “What!” Chet’s eyes bulged.

  The young man looked at him, then said, puzzled, “You seem surprised.”

  Immediately Joe asked the matador if he knew a Mr. Moore in the States. “No, I don’t. I never heard of him.”

  The Hardys were disappointed. For the second time their hopes of finding the right Roberto Hermosa were dashed. They now wondered whether Hermosa was the last name of the man they sought.

  “Do you know an archaeologist named Tatloc?” Frank questioned him.

  Again the matador shook his head. “I spend most of my time training to be a bullfighter. I would have no opportunity to come in contact with a man like that.”

  Chet now asked, “Is there any shop around that sells antique weapons?”

  “Yes. It’s not far away,” Roberto replied, and gave the address.

  “Thanks,” said Chet. “And good luck to you in your bullfights!”

  As the boys walked away, the Hardys beamed at Chet. “You’re really becoming quite a sleuth,” Frank said, and added, “If you find a dagger with an Aztec head on the handle, I’ll buy you a good dinner!”

  Chet patted his stomach and grinned. “I’ll start planning what I’ll order!”

  When the boys reached the shop they found it to be an amazing place, full of almost every kind of old-time weapon. Glass cases were filled with pistols and daggers. Walls were covered with helmets, suits of armor, and many varieties of swords and sabers.

  A pleasant, middle-aged man emerged from a rear room. He said the owner was on vacation, but could he help them? Frank told him that they were interested in trying to find an antique dagger with the head of an Aztec warrior on the handle.

  The clerk beamed. “You are in luck. One was brought here less than an hour ago.”

  The Hardys were almost speechless. Chet was grinning broadly. “What did I tell you?” he asked.

  The clerk went to the rear room, and came back in a moment with a dagger which he laid on top of a counter. The boys could hardly believe their eyes. The dagger looked just like the one Chet had brought to the hotel!

  The stout boy picked up the weapon and examined it. He gave the Hardys a significant look, confirming that it was the same dagger.

  “How old is this dagger?” Frank asked the man.

  “Quite ancient,” the shop clerk replied. “It was found in one of the ruins by two men. The museum didn’t seem to want the dagger, they said. I’m sure that it’s authentic. Anyway, I paid the men who came in here a good price.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve been gypped,” said Chet. “That dagger belongs to me. I had it made and it’s not old—at least the handle isn’t.”

  The clerk stared in astonishment, then a frightened look came over his face. “If you’re right, I’ve spent an awful lot of my boss’s money for nothing!”

  “That’s too bad,” said Frank. “But the story’s true. Could you tell us what the men looked like?”

  The description that followed exactly fitted that of Jack Wayne’s kidnapper and the phony detective. Joe then explained how the boys had been robbed.

  “I shall get in touch with the police at once,” the man said nervously.

  The boys wanted to take the weapon with them, but knew the police would have to examine it first. They told the shop clerk they might return, and he feebly said good-by. The man stood staring after them, chagrined and unhappy.

  The boys felt nonplused. Their sleuthing for the afternoon had yielded little, except to prove that the men they were after had quickly realized they had obtained the wrong dagger and sold it under false pretenses to the unsuspecting clerk.

  “Here comes the matador!” Joe announced suddenly.

  On a hunch Joe walked up to the young man and asked if he knew of anyone else in Mexico having the name Roberto Hermosa.

  The matador replied, “Yes, I have heard of such a man. I have never met him, but I understand he lives out near the Tule Tree. He is an authority on Mexican ruins.”

  CHAPTER XV

  The Tule Tree Discovery

  THE Roberto Hermosa for whom they were looking might be an authority on Mexican ruins! This, thought the Hardys, was certainly a connection with Señor Tatloc!

  The boys thanked the matador for his information and returned to the hotel. After consulting his map, Frank remarked that the Tule Tree was on the way to the Mitla ruins. “We may as well keep going and take in the ruins while we’re at it.” He added excitedly, “Remember the picture we found at Mr. Moore’s house of the man under the giant tree?”


  “You think maybe you’ll find Senor Tatloc near there?” Chet questioned.

  “Possibly. Or at Mitla which is not far from it.”

  Joe, who had been looking at the guidebook, asked, “Did you know the Tule Tree is three thousand years old? It’s supposed to be the oldest living thing on the American continent!”

  “What kind of tree is it?” Chet asked.

  “A green cypress.”

  “Imagine living all that time and growing bigger every year!” Chet exclaimed.

  Joe began to laugh, “Pal, you’d better not live so long!”

  The stout boy took the remark with a grin and said, “I’m not worried. The needles you’re always putting into me will keep me from expanding.”

  The following morning Chet decided to go back to the weapon shop and retrieve his dagger. “The police must have finished with it by this time,” he said.

  “Okay,” Frank agreed.

  When the boys stopped at the shop, the clerk said they would have to go to headquarters to claim the weapon. He confided that he had not slept a wink all night. “When I told the police about those thieves, they looked at me as if I were stupid. Well, maybe I am. I’m certainly out a lot of money—I know. I’ll have to make good.”

  The three boys felt sorry that the clerk had been duped, but had no solution to offer for his mistake.

  “Maybe you’ll get a break and make a lot of big sales today,” said Frank, as the boys walked toward the door.

  “I hope so. I’ll have to do something,” the clerk said dolefully. He began to mutter distractedly about “cheats and hoodlums.”

  The boys slipped out quietly and climbed into the car. After Chet had retrieved his warrior dagger from the police, Frank drove in the direction of the Tule Tree. A few miles beyond town they came upon the tall, stately cypress standing majestically in a park area. The three boys stepped from the car and gazed in amazement at the mammoth trunk.

  “It’s astounding!” said Joe.

  A sign nailed to the trunk said that the tree was one hundred and sixty feet in circumference. Its many branches spread out gracefully over a tremendous distance.