"Seems to be some doubt whether Hull did it," suggested Kirby, to draw him on.
"That so? Mebbe there's evidence you don't know about." The words had come out in the heat of impulse, shot at Kirby tensely and breathlessly. Olson looked at the man on the horse and Lane could see caution grow on him. A film of suspicion spread over the pupils beneath the heavy, ragged eyebrows. "I ain't sayin' so. All I'm dead sure of is that Hull did it."
Kirby fired a shot point-blank at him. "Nobody can be dead sure of that unless he saw him do it."
"Mebbe some one saw him do it. Folks don't tell all they know." Olson looked across the desert beyond the palpitating heat waves to the mountains in the distance.
"No. That's tough sometimes on innocent people, too."
"Meanin' this nephew of old Cunningham. He'll get out all right."
"Will he? There's a girl under suspicion, too. She had no more to do with it than I had, but she's likely to get into mighty serious trouble just the same."
"I ain't read anything in the papers about any girl," Olson answered sullenly.
"No, it hasn't got to the papers yet. But it will. It's up to every man who knows anything about this to come clean."
"Is it?" The farmer looked bleakly at his visitor. "Seems to me you take a lot of interest in this. Who are you, anyhow?"