The Jungle Pyramid by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

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.
    â€œDitch it!” the guide advised.
    â€œA Hawkins man never gives up,” Courtney replied.
    â€œHave 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.”
    â€œWhy 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.”
    â€œWhat are the chances of finding one tomorrow?” Chet asked.
    â€œPretty 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.
    â€œBig 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.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThe Mexico City plane. You couldn’t fit even a helicopter into this jungle with a shoehorn.”
    â€œThat’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