The Mark on the Door by Franklin W. Dixon

asked a maid to set the dining-room table and prepare food for the visitors.
    Garcia sat with the hungry boys while they were eating. Presently he said, “We must give a little fiesta tonight to celebrate my success in El Dorado!”
    â€œBueno!” declared Alfredo. “We will invite some of our amigos from the village.” His father turned to the boys. “And you, muchachos, must stay as my guests.”
    â€œI’m all for that!” Chet exclaimed, beaming. “Muchas gracias!”
    After a long nap, the Americans spent the rest of the afternoon watching preparations for the fiesta. They helped set up large wooden tables on the patio. Bananas, oranges, limes, and avocados were heaped on some of the tables. Food that was cooking gave off tantalizing odors.
    â€œThis will be a gastronomic adventure!” Chet exclaimed as he viewed the preparations hungrily.
    Joe grinned. “We might never get Chet to leave this place!”
    Guests from the village began coming shortly after sunset. As the festivities got underway, torches were lighted to illuminate the area. One man arrived leading a bull and put it in the corral. Many of the younger villagers swarmed around the enclosure to see it.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Chet asked Alfredo.
    â€œSome of our amigos like to show their skills as matadors,” he replied.
    â€œBullfighting?” Joe asked.
    â€œThey are not real matadors,” Alfredo explained laughingly. “It is just a game. The bull does not have sharp horns, and he is not harmed in any way.”
    The boys hurried over to the corral and saw that one young man had already leaped into the enclosure. He waved a muleta, a small red cloth draped over a stick, in front of the bull.
    â€œToro! Toro!” shouted the would-be matador.
    The animal rushed toward him, but the young man side-stepped gracefully.
    â€œOlé! Olé!” the spectators cheered.
    The boys watched the fun for several minutes. Then as Frank and Joe walked back to the tables they suddenly became aware of Chet’s absence. “Toro! Toro!” came their chum’s voice from the corral.
    â€œOh, no!” Joe yelled. “Don’t tell me Chet’s playing matador!”
    As the Hardvs ran back they saw their hefty pal inside the enclosure waving a muleta.
    â€œGet out of there!” Frank shouted. “Or we’ll have to carry you out in pieces!”
    At that instant the bull rushed toward Chet, who side-stepped. But he lost his footing and fell to the ground. The bull sped on past and turned to make another charge.
    Chet scrambled to his feet, dropped the muleta , and began running. The bull raced after him and the spectators cheered.
    â€œHead for the fence!” Frank yelled.
    Chet did not hear. Instead, he kept running in circles with the bull in pursuit. Finally he made a dash for the fence and tried to force his way between the wooden slats, but he got stuck!
    â€œWatch out for the bull!” Joe warned.
    He flung himself over the fence, picked up the muleta, and attracted the animal’s attention away from the panting Chet. Several spectators leaped into the enclosure to help.
    With the bull diverted, Frank and Tico pulled Chet loose. The only damage was a couple of buttons missing from his shirt.
    â€œDo you still want to be a matador?” Frank asked with a frown.
    â€œI’ll stick to football,” Chet muttered.
    â€œThat waistline of yours almost got you into real trouble with the fence,” Joe added.
    â€œYes, and now I’m hungry again,” Chet said. “Let’s have some chow.”
    It was after midnight when the fiesta ended. After the villagers had left, the boys and their hosts sat on the patio of the hacienda to chat.
    â€œWe enjoyed the fiesta very much, Senor Garcia,” Frank said.
    â€œGracias,” the man replied. “And you are all welcome to stay here as long as you wish.”
    â€œWe’d