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

should not try to act independently of the law.”
    Frank and Joe, puzzled, asked what the young men did.
    Captain Valero replied, “They are against visitors from your country and from every other nation. They have an idea that sightseers come here for the sole purpose of stealing our relics. As you know, there is a law that anything of value found in Mexico must be turned over to our government. The presentation is often made to a museum.” He smiled. “Our State Museum here in Oaxaca has a priceless collection of artifacts. You must visit it.”
    â€œBut it isn’t true that all visitors from the United States come here with theft in mind,” Joe protested.
    â€œThe authorities know that,” the captain stated, “but it is difficult to persuade hotheaded young men that they are wrong in the methods they use to carry out their fanaticism.”
    Frank changed the subject. “Joe and I are down here looking for two men. That is why we went out to the ruins. Do you happen to know a Roberto Hermosa or a Señor Tatloc?”
    â€œI have not heard of Roberto Hermosa. Senor Tatloc is an archaeologist, yes?” As the boys nodded, Captain Valero went on, “I have heard that some famous archaeologist—I don’t know the name—was working at Monte Alban. Perhaps he is Señor Tatloc, but I cannot say for sure.”
    The police officer paused a few moments, then said, “I am afraid I have not been of much help to you boys. But I wish you luck in your quest. In the meantime, I will keep this note. It will be very good evidence against this overpatriotic, troublesome young group, if they are guilty. I must warn you that they can be dangerous. But you have already found that out.”
    The Hardys said they would be on guard and report any further trouble to the police. As the brothers walked back to the hotel, they discussed the young zealots. Were they sincere in their motives, or had they perhaps, undercover, been doing a job for the men who were trying to find the Aztec warrior?
    â€œI can hardly wait for morning to come so we can get back to Monte Alban,” said Joe. “I have a hunch we’re going to get a break in this mystery at last.”
    â€œI sure hope that you’re right,” Frank answered.
    The boys passed a food shop which was still open and went inside. Their night’s adventure had made them hungry, and they also figured that when Chet woke up, he would be ravenous. They purchased three large enchiladas and took them along, together with three bottles of soda.
    Chet was still asleep, so the brothers set the food on his night table. They ate their own midnight snack and then went to bed. When the Hardys opened their eyes the next morning, Chet was sitting up in bed reading a magazine, munching his enchilada, and drinking soda.
    â€œHi, you lazy guys!” he said with a pretended look of reproach. “Forget you had an invalid on your hands?”
    The Hardys grinned. “Want to ride to breakfast in a wheel chair?” Joe quipped.
    Despite his early-morning snack, Chet ate a breakfast of fruit, cereal, eggs, bacon, and two big rolls. The Hardys told him about the warning note, their talk with the hotel manager, and visit to police headquarters.
    Their friend gulped. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know about those guys’ reasons for hitting me last night,” he said, “or I wouldn’t have slept a wink. Things are dangerous enough! You fellows aren’t going out to Monte Alban again, I hope.”
    â€œWe sure are,” Frank told him. “Aren’t you coming along?”
    â€œNow listen,” Chet said, “I’m not chicken, but I don’t aim to walk right smack into the middle of big trouble. I got a pretty bad whack on the head, don’t forget. You haven’t mentioned my goose egg, but believe me, it’s plenty sore. Tell you what. Why don’t I stay in town and