Harry blinked over his cigarette, but did not look at his father.
“Nobody seems to know,” he said, trying to appear indifferent.
“He was shot the night Blaze Nolan came to see him.”
“I saw it in a ’Frisco paper,” said Harry. “They didn’t know who shot him.”
“Why didn’t you show me the paper, Harry? You never mentioned it to me. Didn’t you think I’d be interested?”
“Well, I dunno—I didn’t think, I guess.”
“Did you shoot him, Harry?”
Harry turned and walked the length of the verandah. Finally he came back to his father.
“Yes, I shot him,” he said truthfully.
The old man stared at him until Harry turned away.