"How do you know they're not in this part of the country?" asked
Prescott dryly. Then, of the farmer, he further inquired:

"What kind of a car were they driving, sir?"

"A red Smattach, last year's model," answered the man.

"That's just what the Dodge automobile runabout is, and Smattach
cars are not common in this section," muttered Prescott. Then
he went over to take a keener look at the written notice on the
sheet of white paper.

"This looks like disguised handwriting; it's backhanded," Dick
mused aloud. "But I notice one thing peculiar. Who makes a funny
little quirl at the beginning of a letter 'm,' such as you see
in this writing?"

"Bert Dodge!" flashed Dave Darrin, an indignant light flashing
in his eyes. "So we're six simpletons, held up by his shady tricks,
are we? If Bert Dodge is anywhere ahead of us on the road, then
I hope we have the good luck to meet him under conditions where
he can't jam on the speed and get away from us!"

"Joke on you all, is it?" asked the farmer, grinning quizzically.

"It looks like it," admitted Dick sheepishly. "You're sure that
none of the folks west of here heard anything of a mad dog, are
you?"

"Pretty sure," nodded the farmer.