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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior
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“Yes, but only theory,” Frank replied. “Since Mr. Moore was a weapons collector, we think the object is an ancient weapon, with part of it, perhaps the handle, representing an Aztec warrior. Did Senor Tatloc ever mention such a thing?”
“No.”
Hermosa was thoughtful for a moment, then he said, “The men who attacked me must know about Mr. Moore's will or have other information about the warrior. How could they have got it?”
The Hardys gave him a quick but complete account of the mystery from its start.
The Mexican frowned. “I do not like being mixed up in this affair,” he said. “But since I am, I will question other men who dig in the ruins. They may have seen Senor Tatloc recently.”
“Thanks,” said Frank. “By the way, was there a great Aztec warrior in ancient times named Maxli?”
“Indeed there was! And you will be interested to know that Senor Tatloc is a direct descendant of that great Aztec warrior.”
The Hardys and Chet could hardly conceal their excitement. There was now no doubt in their minds that Maxli Tatloc was the man for whom they were looking!
Frank showed the belt buckle to Hermosa. “We found this near the Tule Tree,” he said. “Do you think this belongs to your friend?”
“Yes, that is Senor Tatloc's buckle. I knew that he had lost it. He was very much upset because he prized it highly. He would be pleased to know it has been found.”
Frank smiled. “It would give us great pleasure to present it to Señor Maxli Tatloc.”
The Hardys said they would keep in touch with Roberto Hermosa, and asked that he telephone them if he picked up any clues to the whereabouts of the archaeologist. They all shook hands and the boys went to their car.
As they drove along, Joe suggested they report their latest findings to Mr. Hardy.
When they reached the hotel Frank put in the call. Mr. Hardy praised the boys' productive sleuthing and then said he thought they should advertise in the large Mexican newspapers for any information leading to Señor Maxli Tatloc.
“We'll do it right away,” said Frank.
As soon as he had said good-by, the Hardys and Chet set off for the office of an Oaxaca newspaper. They were told that the advertisement would appear in the following morning's edition.
Next day the boys hurried downstairs for an early breakfast. Frank paused to buy a paper. A headline splashed across the front page made him catch his breath. He hurried to catch up with his companions, crying, “Look at this!”
The headline read:
WELL-KNOWN ARCHAEOLOGIST MAXLI TATLOC BELIEVED KILLED IN FALL FROM MOUNTAIN
CHAPTER XVII
Treacherous Trail
AFTER Frank, Joe, and Chet had recovered from their initial shock, they read the article which gave the details of Senor Tatloc's probable death. Three North American tourists—William Kimmer, Ronald Naylor, and Burt Humphrey—had reported seeing Senor Tatloc in a wild, mountainous area.
“The minute the men saw him topple over the cliff,” the article went on, “they rushed to the edge. But there was no sign of Tatloc anywhere below.
“Kimmer telephoned the authorities. Naylor phoned the story to this paper. A rescue party was sent out at once, but the archaeologist has not been found. It is assumed that Tatloc fell into the river at the foot of the canyon, was killed, and his body swept away.”
The boys reread the article before speaking. Finally Chet said, “It's terrible news. This will change your plans, won't it, fellows?”
“It looks that way right now,” Frank conceded. “Before we do anything more, I believe we should phone Dad.”
As soon as they finished breakfast, Frank put in the call. Mr. Hardy, who fortunately had not yet left the house, was stunned by the news. “This changes the whole aspect of the case,” he said. “Does the newspaper article say that Tatloc
fell
off the cliff?”
“Yes.”
“It's just possible he was shoved off,” said the detective. “You boys have plenty of evidence now that certain people will let nothing stand in their way to obtain the Aztec warrior object. One of their big stumbling blocks would be Tatloc.”
“This gives a pretty grim twist to the case,” Frank commented. He then asked his father what the boys should do next.
Mr. Hardy took so long to answer the question that Frank thought the connection had been cut off. He finally said, “Hello? Are you there, Dad?”
“I'm still here,” came the answer. “I was thinking—it just occurred to me that this whole story of Tatloc's death may have been trumped up.”
Frank was astounded. “You mean those American tourists are fakes?” he asked.
“That's my suspicion—there may not be any tourists from the States with those names. I suggest you check at once with the Mexican Tourist Department. You remember they took up one part of your tourist card when you entered the country. In that way, the department has a record of everyone coming into Mexico.”
“Great idea, Dad! We'll do that!”
Frank repeated the conversation to Joe and Chet, then put in a call to the Tourist Department in Mexico City. The official to whom he talked promised to look up the information and call him back as soon as possible.
While they were waiting the boys began to speculate: If the story
were
false, what was the reason behind it?
“Maybe it's some kind of scheme the gang planned,” Chet suggested.
Frank agreed. “Yes, that could be—to force Senor Tatloc to disclose his whereabouts.”
Joe jumped up from the chair. “Could be this whole story was faked just so we'd give up the case!”
Again the boys became silent for several minutes. Finally Chet sighed and said, “I wish we'd hear from the Tourist Department. This suspense is killing me!”
At that moment the phone rang. Joe answered. He listened, then thanked the caller and hung up.
“That settles it!” he exclaimed. “No American tourists with those names have entered Mexico.”
“Wow!” Chet cried. “Then the whole story is phony!”
“This gives me a new idea,” said Frank. “I think we should work on the theory that Tatloc was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped!” Joe explained. “By whom?”
“By the Aztec warrior gang!”
“Sure!” Joe agreed excitedly. “We can try to get a lead on those tourists from the police. Then we can scout the area where Tatloc was supposed to have disappeared.”
“We'd better report all this to Dad,” Frank suggested.
Mr. Hardy was waiting for his son's call. “Good work, boys!” he said. “Let me know if you find out anything about those tourists.”
“Will do, Dad. By the way, any developments on your end of the Aztec mystery?”
“Very little,” the detective answered. “We made another exhaustive search of the Moore grounds, however, and came across something of possible significance.”
“What is it?” Frank queried eagerly.
His father said that on various trees near the house, he and Sam Radley had found tiny arrows carved into the trunks at ground level. Some of the markings were even hidden by grass. “As yet Sam and I haven't figured out what they mean. But we'll keep working at it on this end. Good luck to you boys!”
Mr. Hardy said good-by and Frank immediately phoned the police. He was told that the story of Tatloc's fall had come in by phone. Frank relayed to the other boys their newest assignment to trail the kidnapper.
“Good night!” cried Chet. “Now you expect me to tangle with kidnappers who push people over cliffs?”
“Suit yourself,” said Frank. “The thing that bothers me is how we can ever trail these kidnappers without a single clue.”
Joe suggested, “If the mountain area is the place where Senor Tatloc was kidnapped, he was taken some distance away. But we might pick up some kind of lead to the place where he's being held.”
“You're right,” Frank agreed. “If searchers are still looking for him in the canyon, we'll probably have a better chance of picking up an un-trampled clue on the mountain.”
Once more the boys consulted their map. The region in the newspaper account lay in a north-easterly direction from Oaxaca. The Hardys and Chet set off in the car and soon found themselves on a narrow, twisting road which led higher and higher up the mountain, its peak lost in the clouds. There was a scattering of native huts.
Now and then the boys caught glimpses far below of a rushing stream which they assumed was the one into which Señor Tatloc was supposed to have fallen. Near the base of the mountain, tall evergreens grew thickly, but higher up these thinned out and gave way to shrubs and bare rocks.
“If Senor Tatloc was around here, there must be ruins,” Chet remarked.
“It doesn't mention any on the map,” Joe pointed out. “But he may have made a discovery.”
“Could be,” Frank conceded.
For some time they had passed no more mountain huts and in a little while the road ended.
“Now what?” Chet asked.
Frank again studied the map. Then he said that the spot for which they were aiming was directly above them. “From here I guess we climb.”
Chet groaned loudly. “What's the use of all of us going?” he asked. “If there are kidnappers around, somebody ought to guard the car.”
“Okay, you do it.” Frank grinned. “I'll turn this bus around, so it's heading down. Chet, if you hear us give our special birdcall whistle, drive back to town fast, and get the police.”
“Suits me,” the stout boy agreed.
Frank and Joe started up the craggy mountainside, each wondering if they were on a futile mission. The brothers were beginning to doubt that Senor Tatloc would have come to this spot. Also, it occurred to the Hardys that they might be walking into a trap! They stopped for several minutes to discuss the matter.
“Dad suggested this trip,” Frank argued, “and we have a job to do.”
This thought spurred the boys on, and they began to climb faster. Chet, watching from below, lost sight of his friends as the clouds enveloped them.
“It's chilly up here,” said Joe, “and visibility's poor.”
“That should keep us from being spotted,” Frank remarked.
The Hardys finally reached the summit, which was flat for several hundred yards. They crossed it and looked down into the canyon. Through spaces between the drifting clouds they could see the almost barren mountainside with the rushing stream below.
“Nobody could have survived a tumble down there,” said Frank. He shuddered slightly.
The boys walked around the plateau but could see nothing to give them a clue. They kept walking for some distance along the top until they came to a place where it started sloping downward.
Suddenly Joe grabbed Frank's arm and pointed at the earth. “Footprints! And all mixed up!”
“Must have been a scuffle here!” Frank stated.
The Hardys, excited, followed the prints. They found some indicating that a man evidently had been dragged away!
“These prints are easy to follow,” said Joe. “Come on!”
He and Frank slipped and slid on the treacherous gravelly soil through which a natural path dipped and rose. At an especially slippery, jagged section the footprints disappeared completely. Nevertheless, the boys climbed over the huge outcropping and came to the path again. Here the footprints resumed.
Instinct warned the Hardys to become more cautious. They almost tiptoed along, keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of the presence of human beings.
About a hundred yards farther on, the boys suddenly stood stock-still. Just ahead of them was a crude thatched-roof structure built close against the mountainside.
“Imagine living here!” said Joe in a whisper.
“That crude hut looks newly constructed,” his brother observed. “We may have reached the end of our trail, Joe!”
Moving with extreme caution, the young detectives proceeded. Since no one seemed to be around, they moved up to the hut and looked through the open doorway.
Inside, on the floor, lay a man bound and gagged!
CHAPTER XVIII
Vaquero Attack
ALTHOUGH the face of the prisoner in the hut was distorted by the gag in his mouth, Frank and Joe were sure he was the man they were seeking.
The Hardys hastened inside. Joe quickly untied him, and as Frank pulled out the gag he asked, “You are Senor Maxli Tatloc?”
The lean, gray-haired man sat up and nodded, apparently unable yet to speak. Joe noticed a gourd hanging at the back of the hut. “Maybe there's water inside,” he thought, and dashed over to get it.
Returning to the archaeologist, he said, “Perhaps a drink of this will help.”
The man, with a grateful look, drank thirstily. Then Senor Tatloc heaved a great sigh and with the boys' help stood up.
“Gracias,”
he said weakly. “Thank fortune you have come.”
“Are you sometimes called the Aztec warrior, Senor Tatloc?” Frank asked.
The archaeologist looked startled. “Yes, I am. How do you know? Who are you?”
“Frank and Joe Hardy. We've come to help you,” Frank told him.
“Then get me away from here as quickly as possible,” Senor Tatloc said in a stronger voice. “We must all get away from here before those bandits return!”
Frank and Joe were eager to question the man further, but realized that this was not the time to do it—he was barely able to walk or talk. Explanations on both sides must wait.
Though the Hardys chafed at the necessary delay, they said no more. Supporting the archaeologist between them, the trio started back along the ridge, intending to follow the natural trail down the mountainside.

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