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jets. The helicopter—which was no longer a helicopter but the next thing to a comet—streaked cometlike for Mexico.
    They reached the border in practically no time. There was a fretting delay while Jim used the rotors to come down and be checked through by the border guards. There was even more delay on the other side of the border when Mexican customs officials pried through the bags and made a great fuss about Sprockets. The air rattled with their incomprehensible Spanish, and the doctor rattled back at them.
    Finally they were allowed to proceed. Again Jim folded the rotors and used the jets. In less than a tick they were streaking over the Mexican mountains. In slightly more than a tick they were darting through thunderclouds and trying to dodge lightning. Then hail was pelting the cabin like buckshot, snow was blinding the windshield, and suddenly it was raining rivers where it had never rained before.
    â€œGreat jumping jiggling jeepers!” cried the doctor. “What could have happened to have caused all this?”
    Sprockets tried to say sunspots, but he was still turned off and all he could do was hope. There came a blinding flash of lightning, then it turned black as night and the helicopter began to fall, spinning and twisting. The jets had failed.
    Somehow Jim got the rotors unfolded, and barely in time. The rotors broke their fall, but only enough to save them from being killed as the helicopter crashed.
    The helicopter was a complete loss. Jim had a scratch or two; Sprockets was aware of a dent in his leg, which he was afraid would make him squeak when he tried to walk; but the doctor had nothing wrong with him save his temper.
    For a while all the doctor could mutter was, “Blankety, blankety, blankety!” Then he managed to say fumingly, “If it wasn’t for that blankety little robot, we wouldn’t be in this blankety big trouble.”
    â€œAw, now, Dad,” said Jim. “It wasn’t Sprockets’ fault.”
    â€œIt was his blankety fault for being along!” sputtered the doctor. “He jinxed everything!”
    â€œBut, Daddy, I didn’t know scientists believed in jinxes.”
    â€œWe don’t,” fumed the doctor. “But look what’s happened! Where are we?”
    â€œI don’t know, Daddy. Maybe Sprockets can tell us. Shall we turn him on?”
    â€œYou turn him on. I absolutely refuse to touch him.”
    CLICK !
    Sprockets came to life again as Jim turned his switch.

    â€œWhere are we, Sprockets?” Jim asked.
    â€œOne moment, please,” said Sprockets, blinking his eye lights and reaching for his cerebration button.
    The storm had passed. The evening sun was out, shining brightly. Around them great mountains rose, brown and jagged and spattered with green cactus.
    â€œAccording to my calculations,” Sprockets began, “we are one thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven and approximately one-twelfth miles from home.”
    â€œAnd where does that put us?” growled the doctor.
    â€œNorth-northwest and a fraction north of Monteverde and the Rancho Diablo. The latter, sir, is three miles and a few yards down the valley.”
    â€œH’mp,” grunted the doctor, somewhat mollified. “H’mp. Then get our bags and let’s start walking.”
    They began walking toward the Rancho Diablo. Sprockets trotted behind, carrying their bags and squeaking with every step because of his dented leg. Twice he stopped to oil it, but still it squeaked. He felt very much ashamed, and unwanted besides. Maybe he had jinxed the trip by trying so hard to please the doctor. Now they had lost the helicopter, and instead of being able to fly to the purple saucer, they would have to climb through the mountains on foot.
    As they neared the big adobe ranch house, Don José Salazar saw them coming, and leaped upon his horse and galloped to meet them. He was a huge man with big sweeping mustachios, big