"But supposing the car didn't stop?" asked Innis. "That pole across the road wouldn't be hard to break; would it?" "No, I don't s'pose 'twould. But when they bust that pole they're bustin' th' law, too, an' that's a more serious offence. Squire Bradley jest doubles th' fine then." "But how do you catch the autoists once they are past the second mile stone, supposing they have broken the pole?" Paul asked, much interested in this sort of a speed trap. "That's easy," said the constable. "As soon as any one is rash enough t' bust our pole, Hank jest telefoams to his brother, who lives down the road a piece. His brother runs out and drops a lot of boards, with sharp nails in 'em, in th' dust. An auto ain't goin' fur after it runs over a few sharp pointed nails. No, sir-ee!" "You 'nail' 'em; is that it?" asked Innis. "That's what we do. We nail 'em! Ha! Ha! I never thought of that. It's another joke, by ginger!" "It must be pretty expensive, keeping two telephones working," suggested Paul. "Oh, the county pays for it," said the constable. "Anyhow, if they didn't, we could clear enough on fines to do it. Squire Bradley could raise the rate a leetle." "I suppose so," agreed Innis, "Well, we'll be getting on, I guess," he added, as Dick came out of the garage after paying for the gasoline. "An' don't try any speedin'," cautioned the representative of the law. "We won't!" promised Dick. Their trip up to noon was uneventful. They were in a section where good roads abounded, and a local automobile club had posted the route so they did not have to stop to ask their directions. They went to a local country hotel for dinner, as the place was well advertised as giving a good chicken and mushroom dinner, and this was a menu that the boys did not care to undertake on their small electric stove. "Jove! That was good!" exclaimed Dick, as they came out of the hostelry. "That's right," agreed Innis. "I think I'll see if they have a couple of roast fowls that we could take along with us, and eat cold for supper," suggested the young millionaire, and he carried out his plan, a brace of well browned chickens being stowed away in the "kitchen" locker. Late that afternoon they came to a place where two main roads forked. Either one would take them to the place where they had decided to stay over night. "This one's a little the shorter," explained a farmer, whom they asked about it, "and it's a good road. The only thing is that there's no crossroad leading from it for about eight miles, and you may git stuck in the middle, and have to come back." "How so?" asked Dick. "Why Bill Simpson is moving his house along this road. He's changing the location, and he may not be off the highway by the time you get there. I did hear, though, that he expected to have it off the road and on the new foundation by night." "Well, we'll take a chance," said Dick. "If the house blocks the road maybe we can go around it."