Having traveled about as much as they had, the three friends had acquired a good general sense of direction, and they had noted the location of the highway down which Bob had said the crooked-nosed man had driven. It was their plan to go back to this point and make some inquiries of any resident they might meet in regard to the existence, on some neighboring farm, of a man with a nose decidedly out of joint. “His defect is such that it surely will have been noticed,” said Bob. “He’s a marked man if ever there was one, and he ought to be easy to trace.” As the three friends left the camp, armed with written permission to be absent until “taps” that night, Jerry, looking across the field, where the dog tents were already up, said: “There goes Pug Kennedy. He must have a pass, too, for he’s going toward the lines.” “I hope he isn’t going to trail us,” remarked Bob. “If we make this capture, or give information by which Crooked Nose is caught, we want the honor ourselves,” he added, with a grin. “Oh, Pug doesn’t know anything about the Cresville fire,” declared Ned. “He might,” insisted Bob. “He lives just outside the town, and he may have heard of the Frenchman’s loss and about Crooked Nose. Come on, let’s get going, and not have him ahead of us.” But Pug Kennedy did not seem to be paying any attention to the motor boys. He marched steadily on, showed his pass to the sentry, and was allowed to go through the line. Then he started off down the road. “That’s the way we’re going,” objected Bob, in disappointed tones. “Oh, don’t pay any attention to him!” exclaimed Jerry. “He’s probably going out to see if he can pick up any more hens. We’ll mind our own affairs, and he can mind his.” “If he only will,” murmured Ned. However there was nothing to do but proceed with the plan they had made. Whether it would succeed or not was a question, and there was also a question as to what to do in case they should discover the right crooked-nosed man. But, being youths of good spirits, the boys did not worry much about this end of the affair. Down the pleasant country road they marched, in the early twilight. It would not be dark for a while yet, and they expected to make good use of their time. Their first “objective,” as Bob said, would be the road down which the crooked-nosed man had driven. This place was soon reached, but it proved to be a lonely stretch of highway. At least no house was in sight, and there appeared to be no residents of whom information could be asked. “But there may be a house just around the turn of the road,” suggested Bob hopefully. “Let’s hike on.” So go on they did, and they were rewarded by seeing, as they made the turn in the highway, a farmhouse about a quarter of a mile beyond. “Maybe he lives there, or works there,” suggested Bob. “What gets me, though, Chunky,” said Jerry, “is what he would be doing down here.”