“Nossir,” said Bad News. “I tried it out with both eyes at the same time, and then I used each eye separately, but they all showed the same thing. Either I’m cock-eyed, or yo’re Blaze Nolan.”
“I’m Blaze Nolan, Bad News.”
“Well, sir, that’s fine. I ain’t never had no eye trouble, but yuh never can tell when it might come sneakin’ in on yuh. When I seen yuh ridin’ up there, I says to m’self, ‘Bad News, yore eyes are terrible. That’s prob’ly Sam Hawker on a bay horse!’ You know Sam weighs over two hundred and he ain’t much over five feet high. But I kept on seein’ that pinto, and I kept on seein’ you, Blaze, and I says to myself, ‘Bad News, use one eye at a time. Git that pinto idea out of yore haid.’ How are yuh, Blaze?”
Bad News quit mumbling and shoved out a long, lean, powerful hand.
“I ain’t askin’ nothin’, Blaze,” he said as they shook hands.
“It’s all right,” smiled Blaze. “I’m out on parole.”
“Yea-a-ah? Parole, eh?”
“You know what that means, don’t yuh?”
“Got an idea what it is, Blaze. How are yuh?”
“All right. What’s new since I left?”