“I knew another man here,” began Adam, with the words a sonorous knell in his ear. “His name was Collishaw.... What’s become of him?”
“Collishaw? Never will forgit him!” declared the old man, grimly. “Last I heard he was cheatin’ Injuns out of water rights over here at Walters—an’ still lookin’ fer somebody to hang.... Haw! Haw! That Collishaw was a Texas sheriff.”
Suddenly Adam bent lower, so that his face was on a level with Merryvale’s.
“Don’t you recognize me?”
“Wal, I shore don’t, stranger,” declared the other. “I’ve been nigh fifty years in the West an’ never seen your like yet. If I had I’d never forgot.”
“Merryvale, do you remember a lad who shot off your fishing line one day? Do you remember how you took interest in him—told him of Western ways—that he must be a man?”
“Shore I remember that lad!” exclaimed Merryvale, bluntly. He was old, but he was still keen. “How’d you know about him?”
“I am Adam Larey!”
The old man’s eyes grew piercing. Intensely he gazed, bending closer, strong and thrilling now, with the zest of earlier experience sharp in his expression.
“I know you now. It’s Adam. I’d knowed them eyes among a thousand, if I’d only looked. Eagle’s eyes, Adam, once seen never forgot!... An’ look at the giant of him! Wai, you make me feel young again.... Adam, lad, I ain’t never forgot ye—never! Shake hands with old Merryvale.”