And now the witnesses were all disposed of, and the trial drew to its close. The young lawyer was asked if he had any witnesses to call for the defence, but he intimated that there were none. I felt for the young man in his first case, with such a hopeless task before him as the defence of this red-handed criminal taken in the very act. I racked my brain to think of what I should say were I in his position. I thought of the words of Magna Charta (remember I had only just left Cambridge): “Against no man will we go, neither will we send, save by lawful judgment of his peers, and by the law of the land.” “The common law holds good in America,” I thought, “and surely they will have heard of Magna Charta.” Then I heard the judge’s grave tones addressing the lawyer. “Mr. Tallboys,” he said, “the evidence in this case is now before the court; but before the jury retire to consider their verdict you are at liberty to offer any remarks you have to make on it that you may think advisable. Understand, you are not to question in any way the competency of the court. This is a people’s court, sprung from and organized by the people themselves, and if you question its right, you put yourself out of court at once, and it will be my duty not to hear you. On the question of the prisoner’s guilt you are at full liberty to speak.” These words scattered to the winds my imaginary reference to Magna Charta and the field of Runnimede and the long tradition of Anglo-Norman law. They were all ruled out of court. The issue was narrowed down to the simple question, “Did the prisoner kill old man Steel or no?” and to that, after the testimony of several witnesses to a thing that had happened two hours before in broad daylight under the open sky, but one answer was possible. The lawyer got up and spoke a few words, but there really was nothing for him to say. “Gentlemen of the jury,” said Captain Sopris, “I think the case is complete, but before you retire to consider your verdict I will ask the prisoner personally to make any statement he thinks fit that might weigh with you. Prisoner, have you anything to say?” There was a great silence of the whole crowd for some minutes; all eyes were bent on the man addressed. He swallowed hard a few times, and choked back his tears, and at last whined out: “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” Didn’t mean to hurt him--when he had shot him through the head at two yards off! If it had not been a tragedy, there would have been a shout of laughter. But, instead, there was a grimmer silence than before. The prisoner had said all he had to say. The pause was broken by Captain Sopris. “Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the evidence, and also what the prisoner has to say for himself. You will now retire to consider your verdict.”