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——"