The Jungle Pyramid (10 page)

“Melville, you'd better leave your helmet behind,” Pendleton urged.

“It's part of one's dress in hot climates,” was the reply. “I wish to dress correctly.”

“That's when you're out in the sun. We'll be under the trees and you'll need air. You'll be too hot with a helmet on.”

Courtney insisted on wearing his helmet, however, so the guide shrugged and dropped the subject.

The party started their trek into the steaming jungle. Frank and Joe decided to say nothing but to keep their eyes open for a plane flying overhead. They might spot the one they suspected!

Soon they found themselves under a dense canopy of greenery. Branches, vines, moss, and creepers blotted out the sun. Much of the time the trekkers had to hack their way through with machetes. Birds and monkeys screamed at them from the trees, and weasels and other small creatures fled through the underbrush at their approach.

Insects stung them and sweat poured down their faces. As Pendleton had predicted, Courtney felt the heat worst of all because of his helmet.

“Ditch it!” the guide advised.

“A Hawkins man never gives up,” Courtney replied.

“Have it your way, but we have quite a distance to go before we reach armadillo country.”

They slogged forward, taking regular breaks since it was so difficult to advance. Late in the afternoon, the guide suggested, “Let's call it a day.” The others willingly agreed. They opened crackers and tinned meat, and ate dinner.

Then Rose gave a talk on armadillos. “They're rarely found together,” she stated. “When we spot an armadillo, we'll run him to earth. He'll try to reach the security of his burrow before you get there. If you head him off, he'll roll up into a ball and stay put.”

“Why does he do that?” Tony queried.

Rose smiled. “He hopes that whoever is bothering him will get tired of waiting for him to uncurl and go away.”

“What are the chances of finding one tomorrow?” Chet asked.

“Pretty good. Yucatán has been the home of the armadillo for thousands of years. According to a Mayan myth vultures turn into armadillos when they grow old. There are plenty left here.”

In the morning, the march resumed. Insects swarmed around the hunters and Frank swatted a mosquito. “They're as big as robins,” he complained.

“Big as crows,” Joe corrected him, knocking one off his cheek.

After hours of pushing through the jungle, Rose noticed an anthill that had been broken open. “An armadillo did that,” she said, excited. “Ants are number one on his menu.”

Pendleton told the group to split up. “Look under bushes and in burrows. If you flush an armadillo, sing out. The rest of us will come on the run.”

Courtney slapped his swagger stick against a tree. “I will direct the capture,” he offered.

“I'll bet he will,” Frank whispered to Joe. “He's not about to touch an armadillo.”

They separated to look for their quarry. Rose tried to pick up a trail at the ravaged anthill. Pendleton continued straight ahead in the direction they had been taking. Courtney stabbed into the bushes with his swagger stick, looking as if he hoped never to see an armadillo in his life.

Chet, Biff, and Tony moved beyond Courtney into the jungle. Frank and Joe went to the left. “There's one thing we won't find in here,” Frank remarked.

“What's that?”

“The Mexico City plane. You couldn't fit even a helicopter into this jungle with a shoehorn.”

“That's right. Well, let's concentrate on the armadillo.”

They split up. Frank vanished among some moss-laden trees. Joe took a route over a carpet of jungle vegetation. The undergrowth slowed him considerably. Vines caught his clothing, and creepers tripped him. A green parrot fluttered down onto a bush and squawked at him angrily, but he laughed as a hare stood upright on its hind legs, twitching its nose as he passed.

Presently Joe found an armadillo burrow, which he probed with a branch. It was empty. He went on, but after a while his legs were tired. He paused beside a tree in an open space of the jungle to rest. Wham! A rock slammed into the tree, inches from his head! It bounced off and caromed into a thicket.

Joe hit the ground in a headlong dive. He crawled over a tangle of creepers and pulled himself into a crouching position behind another tree. Gingerly he peered around the trunk. No one was in sight.

A sharp report cut through the stillness of the jungle. A shot! It had come from behind him! Joe dodged into the underbrush and stealthily moved in an arc toward the spot where the shot had been fired. He saw no one.

His companions had heard the shot, and ran up to see what had happened.

“Somebody used me for a clay pigeon,” Joe told them. “He fired right at me!”

Frank turned to Pendleton. “You're the only one carrying a weapon. Did you fire at Joe?”

“Of course not.” The jungle guide strenuously denied the charge. He opened the breech of his rifle. “Look for yourself. It hasn't been fired.”

“Who could it be, then?” Biff wondered.

Tony sighed. “We're obviously not the only ones here in the wilderness.”

“Maybe it was a Mayan hunter after armadillo,” Pendleton suggested. “Mayas love armadillo steaks.”

“Or the guy who dug the hole and tried to conk us with a tree,” Frank said to Joe in a low voice. “Matter of fact, that's more likely.”

“That would mean we're being watched constantly,” Joe said in alarm.

Frank nodded. “It is a possibility.”

The searchers began beating the undergrowth. An armadillo, evidently startled, bolted from behind a rock. It was about three feet long, with a pointed snout, long ears, and a long tail. The armor fitted over its back like a half shell.

The animal hit Biff a hard blow on the ankles, knocking him off his feet, then raced past. Everybody chased the armadillo, careening and stumbling through the jungle undergrowth.

The creature veered into Chet's path. As he lunged for it, his foot caught in a creeper, and he fell with a crash. The Hardys, too close behind him to stop, piled on top of the stout boy in a tangle of arms and legs. Frantically they scrambled to their feet and resumed the chase.

The armadillo did an about-face and raced between them. It plowed into Courtney, bowling the Hawkins man over. His pith helmet rolled into the underbrush. He got to his feet slowly, retrieved the helmet, brushed it with his sleeve, and placed it on his head, looking embarrassed.

“I shan't associate with any armadillo,” he declared, seating himself on a stump and rapping it with his swagger stick. “I will wait here.”

The animal reached its burrow, but Pendleton, too quick for it, seized the armadillo and pulled it out, kicking and squealing. The creature resisted briefly before quieting down in the guide's arms.

The other searchers arrived. The boys stroked the armor, which was composed of hide with a series of plates around the body, giving it flexibility.

“So that's an armadillo!” Tony marveled.

“Yes indeed,” Rose answered. She scratched its ears with her fingertips.

“Isn't that dangerous?” Chet asked apprehensively. “You might lose a finger.”

Rose shook her head. “Armadillos have few or no front teeth, so they can't bite.” She held the animal while Pendleton took a collapsible wire cage from his pack. They eased their captive into it and the jungle guide pulled the straps over his shoulders. The cage rode easily on his back.

“Mission accomplished,” Pendleton said.

“Right-o!” Courtney exclaimed. “We may now leave this jungle, of which I have had quite enough.”

Frank spoke. “I'd like to scout around here a bit longer.”

Joe and his friends agreed enthusiastically, but Pendleton objected. “We'll have to get back to the dig. Do you want to stay here alone?”

“Is there any reason why we shouldn't?”

“Not really. We're on an elevation where the mosquitoes aren't bad. I don't think you'll see any dangerous animals, either. Can you find your way back to camp?”

“Sure,” Frank said. “We'll go by the compass. Since we came from a northeasterly direction, we'll return that way.”

“Good enough,” Pendleton replied. “You stay then, and we'll be on our way.”

Courtney doffed his pith helmet.
“Adios,”
he said solemnly, and Rose waved good-by.

As the three explorers disappeared into the jungle, their footsteps died away in the distance.

The boys walked in the opposite direction, noting the jungle flowers and animals as they went.

“There are a million monkeys here,” Biff judged.

“And a billion parrots,” Tony added.

“What do we do if we meet any Mayas?” Joe asked.

“Talk Mayan to them,” Frank quipped.

By nightfall the boys were extremely tired. Making a hasty meal of their rations, they set up camp beneath towering trees.

Frank could not sleep. He kept thinking about the strange events that had taken Joe and him to Switzerland, then to the jungles of Yucatán. It appeared that they were finally onto a clue—the plane marked “Mexico City.” But where was it?

He sat up and turned his head. Everything was pitch black. Suddenly through the darkness he saw a light. It moved in a circle and went out. Frank rubbed his eyes.

The light flashed once more, swaying back and forth for a few minutes, then went out again. In a moment the signal was repeated a third time.

Now fully awake, Frank reached over and shook his brother.

Joe yawned. “What is it, Frank?”

“A light out there! Look!”

The beam remained stationary for a few seconds. Then it started moving once more, vanished, and reappeared a moment later.

Frank jumped up. “Hurry, Joe, we'll have to find out what this means!” He grabbed his compass and the two slipped through the jungle, guiding themselves by the mysterious light. After about half a mile, they reached a clearing.

The full moon revealed a weird sight. A stone building covered with jungle vegetation towered toward the sky. The vines and creepers spreading up the uncanny edifice from base to summit seemed like writhing serpents and disguised the building completely. The mysterious beam came from the summit.

“That's a flashlight!” Joe said in a low voice. “Somebody's up there. What's he doing, Frank?”

“Joe, I believe he's signaling a pal. But why?”

 

 

 

 

THE Hardys entered the clearing and cautiously approached the eerie edifice. It was more than a hundred feet high, tapered toward the summit, with indented rows of stone steps rising from the bottom to the top. The base was formed of massive stone blocks. On the summit stood a temple.

“I'll bet it's the lost pyramid!” Frank gaped.

“No wonder it got lost,” Joe whispered. “Rose was right. The jungle covers everything!”

Close up, they could see where winds had blown earth over the stone blocks. The seeds of plants, vines, creepers, shrubs, and flowers had imbedded themselves in the earth and sprouted in profusion.

Joe looked up toward the light on the summit. “Let's find out what's going on,” he whispered.

“Easy does it,” Frank counseled. “We don't want to scare the person off. First we'll explore the ground around the pyramid. Whoever is up there might be signaling an accomplice down here.”

Stealthily the two boys slunk past the staircase in the center of the facade, noting that it lead up to the temple entrance. As they turned the corner, Joe bumped into an upright slab of stone covered with raised squares and bearing strange symbols.

“Glyphs,” he thought.

They went on with their search. At the back of the pyramid, they saw the carved figure of a monstrous snake undulating down over the stone blocks. Eyes of obsidian glinted at them in the semidarkness. The open mouth revealed oversized fangs. Plumes bedecked the head and neck.

“The Feathered Serpent of the Mayas!” Frank said.

He and Joe had seen statues of this mythical creature many times since their arrival in Mexico. They knew it was the principal god of the Indians who had lived in Mexico before Columbus came to America.

Circling the pyramid, the boys returned to their starting point. “Nobody down here but us,” Joe said in a low voice.

The light was still showing on the summit. Suddenly, at the door of the temple, it went out.

“The man's gone inside,” Frank observed. “This is our chance.”

Slipping and sliding, the Hardys silently climbed the steps to the top of the pyramid. Frank edged his way into the entrance of the temple. They did not see the light, and he whispered, “Maybe there are inner stairs to the top.”

“Then we can take him by surprise,” Joe said. He stepped forward, feeling his way along the wall. The boys did not want to use their pencil flashlights because they might alert the person inside to the fact that they were stalking him.

Suddenly Joe plummeted out of sight!

“Joe!” Frank whispered hoarsely. “Joe! Where are you? Joel”

Receiving no answer, Frank fished out his light and played the beam across the interior. At his feet the edge of a long stone incline dropped into utter darkness. Frank was horrified. Had Joe plunged down into a Mayan dungeon? If so, he might be hurt! He might be unconscious! He might even be—! “Joe!” he called. “Are you all right?”

Then he heard Joe's voice behind him. “I'm okay, Frank. I just took a ride on a Mayan roller coaster!”