“I shall show to you that when this man was a child he was struck a severe blow upon the head, and that since that time he has never been of sound mind, his brain never recovering from that shock, a blow which actually broke in a portion of his skull.  Since that time he has had recurrent times of violent insanity, with alternating spells of what seems a semi-idiocy.  This man’s mind never grew.  In some ways his animal senses are keen to a remarkable degree, but of reason he has little or none.  He can not tell you why he does a thing, or what will happen provided that he does thus or so.  This I shall prove to you.

“I therefore submit to you, your Honour, and to you, gentlemen of the jury, two distinct lines of defence which do not conflict, and which are therefore valid under the law.  We deny that any murder has been committed, that any motive for murder has been shown, that any body of the crime has been produced.  And alternatively we submit that the prisoner at the bar is a man of unsound mind and known to be such, not responsible for his acts, and not in any wise amenable to the capital features of the law.  I ask you, gentlemen of the jury, you who hold this man’s life in your hands, are you going to hang a man for murder when it is not shown a murder has been done?  And would you hang a man who is more ignorant than a child of right and wrong?  Is that fair play?  Gentlemen, we are all here together, and one of us is as good as another.  Our ambitions are the same.  We stand here together for the best interests of this growing country—­this country whose first word has always been fair play.  Now, is it your already formed wish to punish this man?  I say, no.  I say, first give him his chance.”

As Franklin ceased and seated himself the silence was again broken by a rising buzz of conversation.  This was proving really a very interesting show, this trial.  It must go on yet a little further.

“By jinks,” said one cow-puncher, “that’s right.  That fellow Juan is loco, an’ you all done knowed that, always.”

“He ain’t so d——­n loco but what he could kill a man, all right,” said another,

“Sure.  Cal Greathouse was worth sever’l o’ this Greaser,” remarked another.

“I don’t see how you c’n hang him legal,” said a judicial voice.

“To h——­l with this new-fangled law,” growled a rough answer from near the door.  “Are we dependin’ on this here new way o’ takin’ care of fellers that kills too many folks?  If the Greaser done it, he’s guilty, an’ that settles it.  Hangin’s too good for a feller that’ll kill a man in camp, an’ then try to burn him up.”

“That’s right!” “Sure!” “That’s the talk!” were the many replies greeting this comment.

“Order, order, gentlemen!” called the judge from the bench, pounding on the box before him.

“Call William Haskins,” said the prosecuting attorney, standing up, with his hands in his pockets.