Thompson shook his head. "I tried him with a gun, Miss Marian. Just showed it to him. He ran into his kennel." "I'll go get mine. I don't believe he will run again." But at sight of her small gun it all came back. Again he seemed to hear the explosion that had shattered his nerves. The terror had entered his soul. In spite of her pleading he made for his kennel. Even the girl turned away. And as he lay panting in the shelter of his box he knew that never again would men look at him as they had looked, nor life be sweet to him as it had been. Then came to Oak Hill an old man to see Thompson. He had been on many seas, had fought in a dozen wars, and had settled at last on a truck farm near by. Somewhere in a life full of adventure and odd jobs he had trained dogs and horses. His face was lined, his hair white, his eyes piercing, blue, and kind. Wade Swygert was his name. "I'll take him if you're goin' to give him away," he said to Thompson. Give him away--who had been championship hope! Marian Devant hurried out. She looked into the visitor's face shrewdly, appraisingly. "Can you cure him?" she demanded. "I doubt it," was the sturdy answer. "You will try?" "I'll try." "Then you can have him. And if there's any expense----" "Come, Comet," said the old man. That night, in a neat, humble house, Comet ate supper placed before him by a stout old woman, who had followed this old man to the ends of the world. That night he slept before their fire. Next day he followed the man all about the place. Several days and nights passed this way, then, while he lay before the fire, old Swygert came in with a gun. At sight of it Comet sprang to his feet. He tried to rush out of the room, but the doors were closed. Finally, he crawled under the bed. Every night after that Swygert got out the gun, until he crawled under the bed no more. Finally, one day the man fastened the dog to a tree in the yard, then came out with a gun. A sparrow lit in a tree, and he shot it. Comet tried to break the rope. All his panic had returned, but the report had not shattered him as that other did, for the gun was loaded light. After that, frequently the old man shot a bird in his sight, loading the gun more and more heavily, and each time, after the shot, coming to him, showing him the bird, and speaking to him kindly, gently. But for all that the terror remained in his heart. One afternoon Marian Devant, a young man with her, rode over on horseback. Swygert met her at the gate. "I don't know," he said, "whether I'm getting anywhere or not." "I don't believe he's yellow. Not deep down. Do you?" "No," said Swygert. "Just his ears, I think. They've been jolted beyond what's common. I don't know how. The spirit is willin', but the ears are weak. I might deefen him. Punch 'em with a knife----" "That would be running away!" said the girl. Swygert looked at her keenly, on his face the approbation of an old man who has seen much.