"Yes, I recollect that all right."
Kirby did not smile. He did not explain that he was the man. But he resolved to find out whether two men had notified the police of his uncle's death. If not, Olson was lying in at least one detail. He had a suspicion that the man had not given him the whole truth. He was telling part of it, but he was holding back something. A sly and furtive look in his eyes helped to build this impression in the mind of the man who listened to the story.
"You didn't actually see Hull fire the shot that killed my uncle, then?"
Olson hesitated, a fraction of a second. "No."
"You don't know that it was he that fired it."
"No, it might 'a' been the woman. But it ain't likely he handed her the gun to do it with, is it? For that matter I don't know that the crack over the head didn't kill Cunningham. Maybe it did."
"That's all you saw?"
Again the almost imperceptible hesitation. Then, "That's all," the Dry
Valley rancher said sullenly.
"What kind of a gun was it?" Kirby asked.
"Too far away. Couldn't be sure."