And everything continued to be strange:  the treeless country through which he was driven, the bald house and huge barns where he was lifted out, the dogs that crowded about him when he was turned into the kennel yard.  These eyed him with enmity and walked round and round him.  But he stood his ground staunchly for a youngster, returning fierce look for fierce look, growl for growl, until the man called him away and chained him to a kennel.

For days Comet remained chained, a stranger in a strange land.  Each time at the click of the gate announcing Larson’s entrance he sprang to his feet from force of habit, and stared hungrily at the man for the light he was accustomed to see in human eyes.  But with just a glance at him the man would turn one or more of the other dogs loose and ride off to train them.

But he was not without friends of his own kind.  Now and then another young dog (he alone was chained up) would stroll his way with wagging tail, or lie down near by, in that strange bond of sympathy that is not confined to man.  Then Comet would feel better and would want to play, for he was still half puppy.  Sometimes he would pick up a stick and shake it, and his partner would catch the other end.  They would tug and growl with mock ferocity, and then lie down and look at each other curiously.

If any attention had been paid him by Larsen, Comet would have quickly overcome his feeling of strangeness.  He was no milksop.  He was like an overgrown boy, off at college or in some foreign city.  He was sensitive, and not sure of himself.  Had Larsen gained his confidence, it would all have been different.  And as for Larsen—­he knew that perfectly well.

One fine sunny afternoon Larsen entered the yard, came straight to him, and turned him loose.  In the exuberance of his spirits he ran round and round the yard, barking in the faces of his friends.  Larsen let him out, mounted a horse, and commanded him to heel.  He obeyed with wagging tail.

A mile or more down the road Larsen turned off into the fields.  Across his saddle was something the young pointer had had no experience with—­a gun.  That part of his education Thompson had neglected, at least put off, for he had not expected that Comet would be sent away so soon.  That was where Thompson had made a mistake.

At the command “Hi on” the young pointer ran eagerly around the horse, and looked up into the man’s face to be sure he had heard aright.  At something he saw there the tail and ears drooped momentarily, and there came over him again a feeling of strangeness, almost of dismay.  Larsen’s eyes were mere slits of blue glass, and his mouth was set in a thin line.

At a second command, though, he galloped off swiftly, boldly.  Round and round an extensive field of straw he circled, forgetting any feeling of strangeness now, every fibre of his being intent on the hunt, while Larsen, sitting on his horse, watched him with appraising eyes.