The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior (8 page)

“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.”

Hearing this, Chet decided to try a drink. He asked how he could suck the liquid out of the plant. The man laughed and said this would be hard for anyone as stout as Chet.

The Hardys smothered grins, but their pal took the remark good-naturedly. The Mexican then offered to get a siphon. He hurried off to a thatched roof hut nearby and soon returned with the equipment. The man chose one of the older plants, saying the juice from it would be more palatable, and inserted a narrow hose down inside it. He told Chet to put the other end of the hose into his mouth and suck.

Chet went about this eagerly. It took several seconds, and he was red in the face before the sap of the plant began to come out. After two mouthfuls, Chet took the hose from his mouth.

“You like it?” the Mexican asked.

Chet did not, but he wanted to be polite. “It's a little too sticky for me,” he replied.

Before leaving, Frank and Joe each took a couple of mouthfuls. They agreed with Chet that this was all they wanted to drink of the sweet liquid. They thanked the native for his kindness and drove on.

It was not long before Chet gave a great yawn and announced that he was ready for the lunch which the hotel had packed, then for a rest. They chose a pleasant little patch of woods near a stream.

“I hope this box has something good in it,” the stout boy remarked, untying the string.

Inside he found cheese sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, a quantity of cookies, and several oranges.

“Not a thing Mexican,” he said in some disappointment.

“Anyway. you started with maguey juice,” Joe reminded him.

When the boys finished eating, the Hardys were eager to be on their way. Chet rebelled. “What's the hurry?” he asked, yawning. “I sure need a nap. I won't sleep long, fellows, honest.”

Chet propped himself against a tree and in a few moments was fast asleep. Frank and Joe walked around for exercise. On their return they noticed a barefoot Mexican boy approaching them. As the Hardys came nearer, he stopped and smiled in a friendly way. When Frank and Joe spoke to the lad in Spanish, he was delighted.

“You are North Americans,” he said. “I learn in school that you have a great country. You shoot off rockets toward the moon. I would like to go to the moon someday.”

The Hardys grinned. “You probably will,” Frank predicted.

The native youngster was extremely intelligent, and although his clothes indicated that he lived on a farm which was not too prosperous, his face showed eagerness and willingness to learn.

Suddenly the Mexican boy's expression changed to one of alarm as he looked beyond the Hardys. The next moment he made a dive past them.

Frank and Joe turned just in time to see a large iguana moving swiftly toward the sleeping Chet.

The little boy by this time had reached Chet's side. Sweeping his right arm downward, he grabbed the iguana by the back of the neck and the tail, and yanked it up into the air. He cried out something in an Indian tongue to the reptile, which wriggled to free itself. But all it could do was claw the air and hiss.

The commotion awakened Chet, who stared in disbelief. For a moment he thought the boy was going to throw the iguana on him and dashed out of the way.

“Where'd that ugly thing come from?” he exclaimed. “Take it away!”

By now, the Mexican boy was smiling again. He explained that the iguana must have crawled for some distance from a valley near a river.

“I thought iguanas were harmless,” said Frank.

“They are,” the lad answered. “But I was afraid that if your friend woke up and saw it, it might give him a bad scare.”

Chet thanked the boy profusely, and before starting off with the Hardys, he handed his “rescuer” several coins.

“See you on the moon someday!” Joe called out as their car pulled away.

It was late afternoon when the three boys reached Oaxaca. They decided to stay at a hotel on the edge of town. After registering and unloading their baggage, the three set off for a look at the town.

They had not gone far when Frank called, “Listen!”

He and the others stopped. From a distance ahead of them came sounds of music and shouting. The boys could not tell from the babble of voices whether they were sounds of merriment or of some kind of protest meeting.

“How about our finding out what's going on?” Frank suggested.

FRANK, Joe, and Chet soon found that the shouting they heard came from the
zócalo.
The large square was being used as a stage, with an enthusiastic audience standing around its sides.

“No trouble here,” said Joe in relief. “Just a celebration.”

They watched a group of children in gay Spanish costumes dancing to the music of several guitars. Chet and the Hardys observed with interest the intricate steps such small boys and girls could accomplish.

A bystander heard Frank's admiring comments and said, “Children in Mexican schools have regular instruction in native dances at an early age. Many become professional dancers.”

Frank asked whether schools taught only the Spanish-dominated period in the country's history. The man shook his head. “Our pupils learn the history of Mexico from prehistoric times. Many of them can speak the various Indian dialects, and through legends handed down in their families, know a lot about the great civilizations that were here in ancient days.”

The children's performance came to an end and they ran off, giggling and bowing. The next number on the program brought rapt attention, not only from the native audience but from the Bayport visitors.

A group of men were costumed as ancient warriors. Their act, done in dance form, represented a battle. The soldiers used long-handled daggers with which they fenced adroitly to overcome their opponents.

“They're great!” said Chet.

“Sure are,” the Hardys agreed.

Presently it became evident that one side was victorious, when most of their opponents fell as if slain. In rushed a man dressed as an ancient priest, holding up his hand to end the slaughter. He commanded the victors to bring him one of the conquered warriors who was still on his feet and ordered the man to follow him.

The priest cried out, “You have been chosen for the human sacrifice!”

“Ugh!” said Chet. “That old fellow looks fierce enough to carry out his threat!”

The Hardys and the friendly man who stood next to them laughed, and the stranger said, “I am glad that you found the performance so realistic. You could almost believe there was to be a sacrifice. We Spanish stopped that ugly custom among the ancient people. It took many, many years to convince the Indians that their gods were not demanding this form of obeisance.”

“All I can say,” Chet spoke up, “is that I'm glad I'm living today. I would have been too nice a fat morsel for those bloodthirsty people!”

The man hastened to assure Chet that the Indians were not cannibals. They carried on human sacrifice only in accordance with their religion.

When the performance was over, Frank asked the Mexican if he knew anyone named Roberto Hermosa.

“No, I'm sorry. Does he live in Oaxaca?”

“We don't know,” Frank replied. He pulled one of the photographs of Tatloc from his pocket. “This is another man we're trying to find. He is an archaeologist named Senor Tatloc. Have you ever heard of him?”

“Sí, sí,”
the man answered quickly. “I have never seen him, but I have heard that a Senor Tatloc has dug many times in ruins near here.”

“At Monte Alban?” Joe asked eagerly.

“That I do not know,” their informer replied.

The boys thanked him and said good-by. Then they questioned some of the dancers and onlookers who stood around. None of them knew Hermosa or Senor Tatloc nor did they recognize the photograph.

“We had a good time, but so far as the mystery is concerned, we drew a blank,” said Frank with disappointment, as the boys trudged back to their hotel.

There they talked with the manager, but he could not help them either. He had not even heard the story of the prize relic having been found at Monte Alban.

Joe changed the subject and asked how early they might eat dinner. “Six o'clock,” was the reply.

At once Joe proposed that the boys eat early and then drive out to the Monte Alban ruins to search for Tatloc. “It doesn't get dark until late. What say?”

The others agreed and by seven o'clock the three sleuths were on their way. Unfortunately, they were not familiar with the road and presently found themselves off course. To get back in the right direction, they took an unpaved and rather desolate side road.

Chet, who was riding in the back seat alone, began to complain. “My supper's going to be jounced down in twenty minutes at this rough rate,” he said, almost hitting the top of the car as Frank drove in and out of deep ruts.

To Frank, the pace seemed very slow. “I hope this won't last long,” he said worriedly.

“Good place for a blowout,” Joe remarked.

“And a—a holdup!” Chet added.

Fortunately, the boys reached a paved road without any tire or engine trouble. Frank put on speed, and the car climbed the mountain to the ruins. The delay had been costly in terms of time, and when they reached the summit of Monte Alban, the sun had set and the moon had already come out.

“We mustn't forget our flashlights,” Frank reminded the others. “And, Chet, look out for ghosts!”

The stout boy gave a grunt. “No ghost's going to come after me. He'll be looking for two guys named Hardy who are searching for an Aztec warrior.”

“Okay, Chet, you win,” Frank conceded.

In the moonlight the great pyramidal temples, tombs, and palaces of Monte Alban looked ghostly and weird indeed. The boys found a tremendous esplanade with giant structures surrounding it. Frank parked the car at one of the openings between the buildings, and the boys proceeded on foot. All of them felt a sense of awe at the immensity and silence of the area where once there had been so much activity.

“What's the history of this spot?” Chet asked, as he looked warily from left to right.

“I understand that during the early fifteen hundreds it was a city,” said Frank, “but after the place was captured, the new owners built another city and used this one just to bury their great leaders and to hold religious ceremonials.”

“Then it is a ghost city,” said Chet. They were passing a stone wall on which were carved life-sized figures of dancers. “Wow!” Chet cried out, pushing against the Hardys. “Look!”

Frank and Joe turned. “What's up?”

“They're—they're alive!” Chet murmured.

The brothers began to laugh. “You're going loco!” said Joe. For fun he went up to the wall, pretended to put his arm around one of the figures, and performed a few dance steps.

Chet did not join the hilarity. “I don't care what you fellows say, I think there are haunts around here. It's too spooky for me. Let's go!”