Read Online The Mystery of the Aztec Warrior by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online Page A

thread a yard long dangling from the thorn, which the boys now could see was as sharp on the end as a needle.
    â€œBuenos dias,” said Frank. He continued in Spanish, “We are curious to know what you intend to do with this.”
    The Mexican grinned. “My good wife will mend my clothes with it,” he said. “Cactus thread is very strong.” The man demonstrated by pushing the cactus needle through his shirt as if he were sewing. “Would you like to take this with you for a souvenir?” he asked.
    â€œGracias,” said Frank. “We may need it!”
    â€œYou know about the cactus plant?” the man asked. “Every part of it is used—from the leaves we make thatched roofs for our huts and fibers to weave cloth. In the desert many weary travelers have stayed alive by drinking cactus juice.”
    Hearing this, Chet decided to try a drink. He asked how he could suck the liquid out of the plant. The man laughed and said this would be hard for anyone as stout as Chet.
    The Hardys smothered grins, but their pal took the remark good-naturedly. The Mexican then offered to get a siphon. He hurried off to a thatched roof hut nearby and soon returned with the equipment. The man chose one of the older plants, saying the juice from it would be more palatable, and inserted a narrow hose down inside it. He told Chet to put the other end of the hose into his mouth and suck.
    Chet went about this eagerly. It took several seconds, and he was red in the face before the sap of the plant began to come out. After two mouthfuls, Chet took the hose from his mouth.
    â€œYou like it?” the Mexican asked.
    Chet did not, but he wanted to be polite. “It’s a little too sticky for me,” he replied.
    Before leaving, Frank and Joe each took a couple of mouthfuls. They agreed with Chet that this was all they wanted to drink of the sweet liquid. They thanked the native for his kindness and drove on.
    It was not long before Chet gave a great yawn and announced that he was ready for the lunch which the hotel had packed, then for a rest. They chose a pleasant little patch of woods near a stream.
    â€œI hope this box has something good in it,” the stout boy remarked, untying the string.
    Inside he found cheese sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, a quantity of cookies, and several oranges.
    â€œNot a thing Mexican,” he said in some disappointment.
    â€œAnyway. you started with maguey juice,” Joe reminded him.
    When the boys finished eating, the Hardys were eager to be on their way. Chet rebelled. “What’s the hurry?” he asked, yawning. “I sure need a nap. I won’t sleep long, fellows, honest.”

    Chet propped himself against a tree and in a few moments was fast asleep. Frank and Joe walked around for exercise. On their return they noticed a barefoot Mexican boy approaching them. As the Hardys came nearer, he stopped and smiled in a friendly way. When Frank and Joe spoke to the lad in Spanish, he was delighted.
    â€œYou are North Americans,” he said. “I learn in school that you have a great country. You shoot off rockets toward the moon. I would like to go to the moon someday.”

    The Hardys grinned. “You probably will,” Frank predicted.
    The native youngster was extremely intelligent, and although his clothes indicated that he lived on a farm which was not too prosperous, his face showed eagerness and willingness to learn.
    Suddenly the Mexican boy’s expression changed to one of alarm as he looked beyond the Hardys. The next moment he made a dive past them.
    Frank and Joe turned just in time to see a large iguana moving swiftly toward the sleeping Chet.
    The little boy by this time had reached Chet’s side. Sweeping his right arm downward, he grabbed the iguana by the back of the neck and the tail, and yanked it up into the air. He cried out something in an Indian tongue to the reptile, which wriggled to free itself.