"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 043 - The Mystery Of The Aztec Warrior" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

The archaeologist probably was still at Monte Alban, looking for other treasures of antiquity. If he were Seсor Tatloc, the boys had a good chance of locating him!

"It's pretty late to start for the ruins tonight," Frank remarked. "I hear there's a long detour through the mountains. Suppose we get up early tomorrow. With steady driving we should be there by evening."

When the boys reached their hotel room, they studied the map and decided to stop at Oaxaca, a small city three hundred and fifty miles southeast of Mexico City.

"We'll stay at a hotel there," Frank said, "then go out to Monte Alban."

The young detectives got an early start but found plenty of traffic on the Pan-American Highway. In a couple of hours they had to branch off on to secondary roads through the mountains. There were sharp curves which Frank took carefully, sounding his horn frequently. Approaching drivers, apparently familiar with the road, did not bother to warn of their approach and whizzed round the corners at breakneck speed.

"Whew!" cried Chet, as a car narrowly missed them. "That driver must have hot tamales in his engine!"

The boys found the scenery gorgeous. Mountains were rugged, steep and often merely bare granite rock. Some were grey in colour, reminding the boys of those they were used to seeing in the Bayport area. But a great many cliffs were pink, and in the dazzling sunlight stood out like rare paintings.

Joe was particularly impressed with the cacti. There were many varieties - from the low-growing, tulipshaped maguey to the mammoth candle cactus. This resembled a giant green-and-silver candelabrum with very tall candles of the same colour. Once the travellers came to a plateau on which grew a cactus orchard.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Chet cried out.

Frank pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Chet pointed to a Mexican, wearing an enormous sombrero, who was kneeling on the ground, his face buried in one of the cactus plants.

"I guess he's having a drink," said Joe. "Shall we all go over and get one?"

"I'm not sure we should drink raw cactus juice," Frank said, "but let's talk to the man anyway."

As the boys drew closer, they were astounded to see what the Mexican was doing. As he raised his head from the plant, he held a long brown thorn in his teeth. To it was attached what looked like a stout white thread. To the boys' amazement, the man kept tugging like a bird pulling a worm from the soil. In a few moments he stood up with a thread a yard long dangling from the thorn, which the boys now could see was as sharp on the end as a needle.

"Buenos 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.

"Gracias," said Frank. "We may need it!"

"You 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 fibres to weave cloth. In the desert many weary travellers 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 friend took the remark good-naturedly. The Mexican then offered to get a syphon. He hurried off to a thatch-roofed 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.

"You 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.

"I hope this box has something good in it," the stout boy remarked, untying the string.