Free The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior by Franklin W. Dixon

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.
    â€œNo, I’m sorry. Does he live in Oaxaca?”
    â€œWe 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?”
    â€œSí, 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.”
    â€œAt Monte Alban?” Joe asked eagerly.
    â€œThat 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.
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œGood place for a blowout,” Joe remarked.
    â€œAnd 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.
    â€œWe 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.”
    â€œOkay, 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.
    â€œWhat’s the history of this spot?” Chet asked, as he looked warily from left to right.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œThen 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