The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior (14 page)

They had not gone a hundred feet when three tough-looking Mexican men they had never seen before appeared from behind an outjutting rock. At the same instant, three lassos snaked out toward Frank, Joe, and Senor Tatloc!

Two of the lariats landed around the shoulders of Frank and the archaeologist, and were quickly drawn tight. Joe managed to dodge the one meant for him, and put up a game fight against the man who had just tried to capture him. The two rolled over and over on the ground as Frank and Tatloc's captors roared loudly with laughter.

Frank was on the point of giving the whistle signal, but stopped himself. Right now it might only lead to further danger for him and the others. He struggled violently to get free, but, with both arms pinioned tightly to his sides, his efforts were futile. He was infuriated to see the stranger getting the better of his brother, but the Mexican was apparently a trained fighter. In a few minutes he overpowered Joe and tied him up with the lariat.

The strangers, who avoided calling one another by name, soon had all their prisoners tightly roped. The men kept laughing raucously, and finally one said in Spanish:

“We are vaqueros, but not roping cattle this time. We came to get this prize fish.” He indicated Senor Tatloc. “When we saw you two boys climbing up the mountain, we went back to our car for our ropes in case we needed them. Lucky we did.”

“Why do you want to capture us?” Frank demanded.

The vaquero laughed. “In your country do you not punish anyone who tries to take a prisoner away?”

“But you have no legal right to be holding this man,” Joe spoke up angrily.

“That is a matter of opinion,” came the quick reply. The man shrugged. “I thought you two boys were little fish, but I believe now maybe you are a big fish too. And we caught you with something better than a butterfly net. You cannot get away!”

The vaquero stopped speaking, called his friends to his side, and talked in whispered tones. The boys could not distinguish any of the conversation. From the men's scowls, however, it was evident they were having an argument. Finally the leader announced, “We have decided to take only the biggest fish with us. You boys will remain in the hut.”

Frank and Joe gritted their teeth in desperation. They were so tightly roped that even though they might eventually free themselves, precious time would be lost and Senor Tatloc probably would have been taken far away!

“At least we could go to the police and give a description of these vaqueros,” Frank thought.

His hopes waned a moment later when the boys were told that the man with whom Joe had fought would remain as guard.

“I'm going to try our whistle,” Joe decided in desperation. “If Chet can hear me, he'll go for the police.”

But before Joe could whistle, the guard came up to the Hardys, whipped handkerchiefs from his pocket, and gagged the brothers. Frank and Joe were pulled into the hut, while the archaeologist was led off by the two vaqueros.

The Hardys writhed in anger and discomfort. Now they could neither move nor talk! All they could do was consider their predicament and try to figure out a method of escape. Also, they were greatly worried about Señor Tatloc.

The boys' thoughts also turned to Chet. What was he doing? When the Hardys did not return, or signal within a reasonable time, surely he would become extremely concerned. Would he drive off and get the police?

In a little while the guard came over to where Frank lay on the earthen floor and stared down at him. “If you do not yell out, and answer my questions,” he said, “I will remove the gag.”

Without waiting for a response, he yanked out the handkerchief and asked, “Where is the Aztec warrior?”

“Why, you just took him down the mountain,” said Frank.

“Oh, I don't mean that old fossil,” the guard replied. “You know well what I mean. Where is the valuable item you boys are going to turn over to Tatloc?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Frank could have yelled for joy. The gang not only had not found the Aztec warrior object but did not know that it probably was still in the States.

“I wish we knew,” Frank replied coolly. “Suppose you tell me how you and your friends happen to know about this warrior business.”

“That is none of your affair,” the man answered. “You and your father are very clever, I'll admit. You have hidden that Aztec treasure well, but we'll find out where it is.” Suddenly the man's eyes grew fiery. “We'll worm the information out of that crazy archaeologist!”

“How—if he won't talk?” Frank asked.

The guard laughed. “That old man prides himself on being a direct descendant of an Aztec warrior. Well, we'll try some of those ancient Indians' torture methods on him. He'll talk!”

With that, the guard thrust the handkerchief back into Frank's mouth. The Hardys exchanged frantic looks. Their own situation was bad enough, but Señor Tatloc was in real danger! Somehow they must get free, and rescue him!

The hours wore on and dusk began to fall. From his pockets the guard pulled out a couple of
tortillas
and a bottle of water. He sauntered outside, leaving the door open. He seated himself in front of the hut, leaning back wearily against it.

The man ate the food greedily and drained the contents of the bottle. From where the Hardys lay, they could watch him clearly. Suddenly the man's head dropped forward and within seconds he was snoring loudly.

At once Frank and Joe began working vigorously to loosen the lariats. The knots were tight, however, and the boys' efforts proved futile. Exhausted, they lay back to catch their breaths. Suddenly the Hardys saw a stout figure glide into the hut.

The brothers' hearts pounded excitedly. Chet tiptoed over to them and yanked out their gags. Then he produced a pocketknife and quickly cut the knots and unwound the lariats.

Frank and Joe could have hugged him for joy, but there was no time to take one extra moment for anything but escape. The three boys rapidly wound the ropes around the still-sleeping guard. As the man started to wake up, Frank gagged him with a handkerchief. By this time, the man was fully awake, but could do nothing except glare malevolently at his captors as they dragged him inside the hut.

“I brought a couple of flashlights,” said Chet, pulling them from a pocket. “Frank, lead the way!”

“Chet,” said Joe, “in return for rescuing us, I promise not to needle you again—”

“Ever?” asked Chet.

Joe grinned. “Well, not until tomorrow anyway.”

Frank called over his shoulder, “Chet, you really came through in the clutch. My reward to you will be a dinner with all the food you can eat!”

“It's a deal.” Chet grinned.

The brothers' hearts pounded excitedly

As the boys carefully picked their way down the mountainside, Chet explained that he was sure something had gone wrong. “I didn't want to take time going for the police, so when I couldn't stand the suspense any longer, I grabbed flashlights and started up here. Boy, what a climb! Did you find out anything about Senor Tatloc?”

When Chet was told what had happened, he whistled in dismay. “You found him and then before you could question him those vaqueros ruined your chance of solving the case!”

“I don't think our chances are ruined,” Joe spoke up. “When the police get hold of that guy up in the hut, I'll bet he'll talk.”

The boys returned to Oaxaca as quickly as they dared drive on the winding roads. Though disheveled and dirty, they went at once to police headquarters and reported what had happened. The officer in charge promised to send police out to the mountain spot at once and bring in the vaquero.

“You young men had better go to the hotel and get some rest now,” he said kindly. “Tomorrow morning I'll let you know what the prisoner reveals. In the meantime, please do not say anything about the fact that Senor Tatloc is alive. It must have been the gang that captured you who gave out the false report about the archaeologist's death. If they are not aware that we know the truth, it may be easier to round up these criminals.”

The Hardys and Chet promised to keep the information to themselves and went to a restaurant. Ravenous, they ate a hearty meal. Then they walked directly to the hotel and dropped into bed, exhausted.

The next morning Frank, awake first, greeted the others with the remark, “I think I know where Señor Tatloc was taken!”

“WHERE?” Joe and Chet exclaimed in astonishment.

“Lake Patzcuaro!” Frank told them excitedly. “Remember the reference those vaqueros made to butterfly nets? That's what the fishermen there use.”

“You're right!” Joe declared. “Let's go!”

Chet too was eager for the trip. “Even if Senor Tatloc isn't there, I'd like to see those fishermen who use nets different from any others in the world.”

Patzcuaro was a long way from Oaxaca in a northwesterly direction. The boys decided to start out early and stop for lunch at Taxco, which was on the way. At eight they phoned the police. The guard at the hut had been jailed but refused to answer any questions. There was no other news.

By nine o'clock they were on the road. They reached Taxco around lunchtime and parked in the large, tree-shaded
zócalo.
Cobblestone streets rose up the steep mountainsides surrounding it. Facing the public square was a very handsome old stone cathedral. The other three sides were lined with attractive shops and restaurants.

As the boys walked around before selecting a place to eat, they noted that many of the shops sold silverware. “Taxco is noted for its silver mines and skilled silversmiths,” said Frank as they paused before one window. “Boy, look at that figure!” On display was the statue of an Indian carrying a large pouch from which he was sowing a handful of corn seeds.

As the boys walked on, they saw several artists, seated on canvas stools, painting the scenes around the
zócalo.
The boys stopped to watch a red-bearded man who was wearing a bright-blue smock. He was sketching a little boy pulling a tiny burro.

The artist looked up at the visitors and smiled. “You are from the States?” he asked in English. When they nodded, he went on, “I lived there once myself, but I found so many fascinating things down here to paint I never went back!”

“Do you specialize in figures?” Joe asked him.

“Pretty much,” the artist replied. “By the way, my name is Don Hawley.” The boys shook hands and introduced themselves.

Mr. Hawley continued talking as he went on with his sketching. “I don't believe this picture will be much good. I am feeling sad. I read in the newspaper that a man whose portrait I painted was killed.”

Mr. Hawley added that the man was a great archaeologist. Hearing this, Frank asked quickly, “Was he, by any chance, Señor Tatloc?”

“Why, yes. I guess you read the account, too.”

“We did,” Frank replied, then asked, “Where is the portrait of Senor Tatloc?”

“In my studio. It is a living likeness. Come, I'll show it to you. I'm too upset to do any more work today.” He put a few pesos into the hand of his boy model and told him to return the next day.

On the way to the studio, Joe asked Mr. Hawley about the archaeologist. The artist said that the man was an extreme contrast to his nickname. “Senor Tatloc was a very peaceful person, yet his friends at the university affectionately called him ‘the Aztec warrior.' ”

“Was his only hobby going on digs for relics?” Frank queried.

“Just about,” the artist replied. “Señor Tatloc had one of the most extensive and enviable collections of Aztec weapons and other artifacts in the world. Many had been handed down through his family for hundreds of years. Upon his death he wished the pieces to go to the State Museum. They're locked up in a bank vault since he had no permanent home.”

The Hardys and Chet acted casual, but were excited at the new information. Tatloc and Moore did have the common interest of collecting weapons. By this time they had reached the studio, which opened directly off the pavement of a side street. Inside, they were confronted by a life-size figure on canvas. This was indeed the man the boys had met in the hut!

“The painting is great!” said Frank. Grinning, he added, “I wish I had money to buy it.”

“Oh, it's not for sale,” said Mr. Hawley. “This picture was commissioned by a man very much interested in the State Museum. The portrait is to hang there, but Senor Tatloc requested that this not be done for another two years. He didn't say why.”

The Hardys glanced at each other. Two years more would round out the five-year period after which Mr. Moore was to return the Aztec warrior object to its owner. Was there a definite tie-in between the two dates?