 What was the point in Grannie Annie and Billy-boy venturing into the desert?
What with red-spot fever, talking cockatoos and flagpole trees, I was running in circles—especially since Grannie became twins every now and then. Grannie Annie strode in the lead, her absurd long-skirted black dress looking as out of place in this desert as the trees. If my calculations are right, we've hit it at its narrowest spot." He could be excused this time, however, for this was only our third day on Jupiter's Eighth Moon, and the country was still strange to us. Blood-and-thunder as these books are, however, they have one redeeming feature—authenticity of background. Grannie Annie was the original research digger-upper, and when she laid the setting of a yarn on a star of the sixth magnitude, only a transportation-velocity of less than light could prevent her from visiting her "stage" in person. He was an old prospector Grannie had met, and he had become so attached to the authoress he now followed her wherever she went. So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelers on foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment and supplies. And then all at once Grannie stopped again, this time at the top of a high ridge. Attached to its hood was a taut wire which slanted up into the sky to connect with the kite. Apparently these adjustments moved planes or fins on the kite and accounted for the car's ability to move in any direction.
 They were there to find Baker
 They were there to find Baker  They were trying to locate the strange birds  They were looking for proof of the Red Spot Fever  They were trying to locate the kites