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.

That night Mrs. Swygert told him she thought he had better give it up.
It wasn't worth the time and worry. The dog was just yellow.

Swygert pondered a long time. "When I was a kid," he said at last,
"there came up a terrible thunderstorm. It was in South America. I was
water boy for a railroad gang, and the storm drove us in a shack. While
lightnin' was hittin' all around, one of the grown men told me it always
picked out boys with red hair. My hair was red, an' I was little and
ignorant.