"Not seeing anybody else? No other kids, no people of any kind? Just being with me, learning your lessons from tapes, and having your test papers corrected automatically? You don't get tired of it?" Mark hesitated despite himself. Then he said loyally, "I'd rather be with you than anybody else. When Mom--when Mom died--I didn't want to see anybody." "I know how you felt. But that was four years ago. You can't grow up alone. Now what you need to do is meet people, learn how they talk and think and feel. You can't learn those things from tapes, and you can't learn them from me." Mark said stubbornly, "I like to be with you." "I'm not much of a person to be with. Don't think I don't know it. I'm mean and surly, and my temper's getting worse by the day. I can't associate with people any more. But _you_ can. I was thinking maybe I'd leave you--" "No!" cried Mark. "Not in an orphanage or anything like that. But I have some friends whose kids are growing up--" "No. I won't go. If you send me, I'll run away. I want to be with you." "Okay," said Sam. "That's that." But it wasn't, and he knew it. Even as he went about preparing his traps, he knew it. * * * * * As it turned out, the only animals he caught in his traps were small ones which tore themselves in two and then scampered off, each half running in a different direction. For the animal which had made those noises, no traps were necessary. Later on he heard a noise outside again, and he went out cautiously, gun in hand. The animal backed away, but he saw it, then he heard it bark. So did Mark, who had followed him. Mark's eyes almost popped. It was four years since he had heard the sound, but he knew at once what it was. "Gosh! A dog! How do you s'pose he got here?" "I don't know," said Sam. "Your guess is as good as mine." "But if we're the first human beings to land here--it ain't possible!" "I know that. But there he is." At the sound of their voices, the dog broke into a series of furious barks, backing away as it did so. "What kind is he, Pop?" "He looks like a mongrel to me. A bad-tempered, medium-sized mongrel with an ugly look about him. Maybe I ought to shoot him and get it over with." "Shoot him? Don't do that! I want him as a pet." "He looks too wild to make much of a pet." The dog gave one last bark of defiance, turned, and fled in the same general direction, Sam noticed, as he had run last time. "Maybe dogs _do_ grow on other planets, Pop." "Only if men have brought them there." "Then that means there was a ship here?" "At some time or other there was a ship. I don't think it was smashed up, or I'd have seen wreckage when I cruised around before landing. That dog was either left here by mistake, or deliberately marooned." "Maybe--maybe he's with somebody who's still here."