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

on moonlight for their search, the brothers swung their flashlights in great arcs. They failed to pick up any trace of their chum. Sure now that he had been kidnapped, the boys berated themselves for failing to check on him when they had started up the steps.
    â€œHow could we be so stupid?” Joe said glumly. “I suppose we’ll have to go back to town and—”
    He stopped speaking as the boys noticed two figures hurrying from a doorway in one of the ancient stone buildings. Instinctively, the Hardys followed. But the men were some distance ahead and apparently more familiar with the place than the brothers. They turned a corner of a temple and disappeared.
    Frank and Joe doubled their speed but were unable to catch a glimpse of the fleeing figures. A few minutes later they heard the roar of a car motor and were sure that the men had left the area.
    â€œOne thing is certain,” said Joe. “They didn’t have Chet with them.”
    Frank nodded. “Which leads me to believe that they may have left him in that building they came out of.”
    The brothers started back on a run. When they reached the doorway, the boys beamed their lights inside. It revealed nothing but an empty room.
    â€œMaybe Chet’s tied up nearby,” Joe suggested. “Let’s call him.”
    He shouted into the building, then outdoors. There was no reply.
    â€œWe’ve heard only one car leave,” said Frank. “If some of the gang took Chet with them, they carried him off before those two men fled. And if they did, we certainly aren’t going to find him here.”
    Nevertheless, Joe continued to call his friend’s name. Finally he stopped and the two boys stood still, trying to decide on their next move.
    Frank suddenly shifted his weight. “I heard something!” he whispered.
    The brothers listened intently. A sound like a muffled groan came to their ears.
    â€œIt must be inside this building,” Frank insisted.
    The brothers inspected the walls of the room. At one point there was a chest-high narrow opening, almost filled with several large loose stones. They were apparently part of an ancient doorway. Through it, the Hardys could hear the groaning more plainly. Working frantically, they began tearing down the blockade.
    The Hardys squirmed through the opening, and Frank swung his flashlight around a small inner room. On the floor lay Chet Morton, semi-conscious!
    Frank and Joe leaped to examine their stout friend. Evidently he had been struck on the head, but otherwise he appeared to be uninjured.
    â€œI wish I knew where there was some water,” said Frank. “It might help revive him.”
    The sound of Frank’s voice seemed to have a stimulating effect on Chet. He blinked his eyes open and looked uncertainly about him.
    â€œChet!” Frank and Joe cried out together, and Frank added, “Thank goodness you’re all right!”
    Chet was too groggy to talk. But being used to rugged treatment in football games, he tried to sit up.
    â€œWe’ll take you outside into the fresh air,” said Frank.
    He and Joe carefully raised Chet to a standing position. Then, supporting him under his arms, they helped him out to the esplanade. He took several deep breaths of air and seemed to be somewhat refreshed.
    â€œDid somebody hit you?” Frank asked.
    â€œI—I guess so,” Chet answered weakly. As his head cleared, he said, “I’m glad you fellows are all right. Boy, when I saw those two guys with the clubs about to hit you on the noggin, I nearly passed out. You heard me yell, didn’t you?”
    â€œWe sure did,” Joe told him. “Thanks for saving our necks.”
    Suddenly Chet began to wobble. The Hardys grabbed him and insisted that they go back to the hotel at once. Supporting him again, they made the trek to their car. For a moment Frank was worried that their unknown assailants might have tampered with the