Stiffy moved nearer, cautiously.
"What you got now?" he demanded irritably.
"These marks on his shoulder," said Meek. His gloved finger shook excitedly as he pointed. "They're the same kind of marks as were on those stones I read about in the book. Marks no one could read. Fellow who wrote the book figured they were made by some other race that had visited Juno. Maybe a race from outside the Solar System, even."
"Good gravy," said Stiffy, in awe, "you don't think...."
"Sure, I do," Meek declared with the air of a man who is sure of his knowledge. "A race came here one time and they had the Prowler along. For some reason they left him. Maybe he was just a robot and they didn't have room for him, or maybe something happened to them...."
"Say," said Stiffy, "I bet you that's just what he is. A robot. Attuned to thought waves. That's why he minds you."
"That's what I figured," Meek agreed. "Thought waves would be the same, no matter who thought them ... human being or a ... well ... or something else."
A sudden thought struck Stiffy. "Maybe them guys found the Lost Mine! By cracky, that would be something, wouldn't it? Maybe this critter could lead us to it."
"Maybe?" Meek said doubtfully.
Meek patted the Prowler's rocky shoulder gently, filled with wonder. In some unguessed time, in some unknown sector of space, the Prowler had been fashioned by an alien people. For some reason they had made him, for some reason they had left him here. Abandonment or purpose?