A few hours later I found the girl. She had been running in circles for hours and had finally settled down near a small fire she had started with a Rumi flamer. She was all hunched over with her arms wrapped about her as I stepped out into the circle of light. I came as near to dying then as I had at any time that night. Miss Thomson screamed at first sight of me and her heat gun leaped upward. I saw her finger tighten on the firing pin--then she relaxed and ran toward me. “Thank God! You’re not a raider, are you? Come here, doggie! Nice doggie!” I nuzzled her hand as she patted my head. Later I might tell her that I came from a race of mutant dogs with I.Q.’s in the 200’s, developed by man to aid him in guarding the far boundaries of his space frontiers ... later I might tell her all about the watchdogs of space ... but right now I felt like having my ears scratched. Transcriber’s note: This etext was produced from Universe Science Fiction, March 1954 (Vol. 1, No. 4.). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.