"Pretty near up to you to find some one else to pass the buck to, ain't it?" he taunted.
"Suppose you tell us the whole story, Hull," the Wyoming man said.
The fat man had one last flare of resistance. "Olson here says he seen me crack Cunningham with the butt of my gun. How did he see me? Where does he claim he was when he seen it?"
"I was standin' on the fire escape of the Wyndham across the alley—about ten or fifteen feet away. I heard every word that was said by Cunningham an' yore wife. Oh, I've got you good."
Hull threw up the sponge. He was caught and realized it. His only chance now was to make a clean breast of what he knew.
"Where shall I begin?" he asked weakly, his voice quavering.
"At the beginning. We've got plenty of time," Kirby replied.
"Well, you know how yore uncle beat me in that Dry Valley scheme of his. First place, I didn't know he couldn't get water enough. If he give the farmers a crooked deal, I hadn't a thing to do with that. When I talked up the idea to them I was actin' in good faith."
"Lie number one," interrupted Olson bitterly.
"Hadn't we better let him tell his story in his own way?" Kirby suggested. "If we don't start any arguments he ain't so liable to get mixed up in his facts."