As the trial of James Wasson reached its critical final days, the defense at last took center stage. Having withstood the relentless march of prosecution witnesses— neighbors, lawmen, and reluctant family members— the time had come for the defense to present its version of events, its counter to the harrowing tale of murder, escape, and betrayal that had been so meticulously laid out by the government. This portion of the trial, covered in today’s installment, marks the beginning of that effort.
First to the stand was Charles Wasson, brother to theaccused,whosetestimony sought to undercut the prosecution’s narrative and offer insight into the days surrounding the killing of Henry Martin. His words, shaped by blood ties and familial duty, attempted to cast doubt on the motives and reliability of the earlier testimony.
Next came Met Wasson, a relative who had been referenced repeatedly throughout the proceedings. His appearance was anticipated with interest, as his name had surfaced in several key accounts and contradictions. Through him, the defense aimed to reframe the chain of events leading up to Martin’s death, hoping to cloud the picture of guilt the prosecution had painted.
Finally, James Wasson himself took the stand. The defendant—stoic throughout much of the trial—now faced the jury not merely as the accused, butashisownwitness. It was a moment of high tension and consequence. Under oath, he offered his version of what transpired that fateful night: a tale of confrontation, peril, and fatal decisions. His words, weighed heavily by the courtroom’s silence, would either humanize him or seal his fate.
In response, the government called U.S. Deputy Marshal John G. Farr as a rebuttal witness. Farr, a seasoned lawman, took the stand with the quiet gravity of a man long familiar with violence and deception. His testimony sought to dismantle key claims made by the defense, particularly those advanced by James himself.
Then, in a final move, the defense called Arnold Conyers asasurrebuttalwitness— one last effort to challenge the prosecution’s final blow. Conyers’ testimony would attempt torestoresomebalance and provide the jury with reason to doubt the certainty of guilt.
This was no longer merely a legal proceeding; it had become a reckoning. And in these final testimonies, the trial of James Wasson reached the brink of its moral and judicial climax.
With the trial of James Wasson weighing heavily on the court like a summer storm over the Washita, the defense called a brother’s voice to speak for him. Charles Wasson, soft-spoken and composed under oath, testified about his brother Jim’s whereabouts on the nightHenryMartinwasshot.
Charles began with a firm confirmation: yes, he was the defendant’s brother, and yes, he saw him on the night Martin died. According to his account, Jim had ridden into the yard that night behind John McLaughlin, the two of them mounted together on McLaughlin’s horse. He testified that Richardson— JoeRichardson—hadalready arrived at the house alone, drunk, and claiming he’d been hired by Jim to pick cotton.
Richardson, Charles said, remained at their house that evening, while Jim got down off the horse, ate supper, and was soon afterward asked by McLaughlin to return home with him. With no horse of his own, Jim mounted again behind McLaughlin and rode off into the night. Charles said he saw no pistol on his brother that evening, nor any on McLaughlin—though he acknowledged it was already growing dark and visibility was limited.
The defense then turned the clock back to a religious gathering the previous summer, a key moment for the prosecution’s narrative. Charles remembered the scene clearly. At Mrs. Kellam’s camp meeting, Jim Wasson was present—and he was, as Charles bluntly put it, “very drunk.”
“He pulled off his boots,” Charles recalled, “and with boots in one hand and a pistol in the other, he went up and gave the preacher his hand.” Jim then proceeded to the homeofOscarReeves,where, according to Charles, he lay down and went to sleep, saying nothing about murder or violence. “He didn’t look like he knew what he was doing,” Charles said, “so I took his pistol from him.”
When pressed on whether Jim had confessed to Reeves or anyone else about killing Henry Martin, Charles was firm: “I never heard him say anything about having killed anybody.”
ProsecutorBarnessharply cross-examined, questioning the witness about inconsistencies and silence. No one, Charles testified, spoke of any killing that night—not him, not McLaughlin, not Jim—all of them omitted any mention of the murder. He also denied hearing any shots from Mrs. Brooks’ house, though he admitted to hearing gunfire in general that evening.
When asked about McLaughlin or Jim crying— something other witnesses had implied—Charles was adamant: “No, sir. No crying done by either of them.”
He also confirmed that Joe Richardson arrived before Jim and McLaughlin, and that John McAlister came about ten minutes later. He said Richardson was already at the house when Jim arrived, contradicting earlier claims that all three arrived together.
Pressed on whether Jim Wasson owned a pistol at the time, Charles swore he did not. “If he did,” he added, “I never saw it.” However, by the following day, he saw Jim inpossessionofapistol—Tom Smothers’—and Jim claimed he had bought it.
That next day, Charles said, his brother left to hunt for their horses, found one, saddled it, and rode off with McLaughlin. They both left the area within a few days. Jim, Charles testified, told him he intended to visit McLaughlin’s uncle in Burneyville, andeventuallywent to the Texas Panhandle with a cattle drive.
Clayton, for the prosecution, sarcastically questioned the explanation that Richardson picked cotton for two days yet harvested only half a bale. The implication hung heavyinthecourtroom,asdid the reality that the timeline offered by the defense did not sit neatly with the evidence of Martin’s violent death.
Still, Charles Wasson was resolute. His brother had been drinking, yes. He had no pistol, so far as Charles could see. And if he had intended to leave the country, Charles said, he already knew it before the shooting happened.
In a case woven through with whiskey, gunpowder, andshiftingloyalties,Charles Wasson’s testimony painted a picture of a drunken, perhaps troubled man, but not a murderer. His words, like those of the other defense witnesses,weremeanttocast just enough doubt—enough, perhaps, to save a man from the noose.
Whetherthejurywouldinterpret it that way remained uncertain. But one thing was clear: the long shadow of that November evening in Indian Territory still cast itself over everyword,everysilence,and every ride down a dirt road toward Woodville.
Next, the defense called one final familiar face to the stand: Met Wasson, younger brother of the accused. Calm but firm, Met took his oath andbegantounravelathread of the evening that left Henry Martin dead and the Wasson name etched in suspicion.
A resident of the Chickasaw Nation, Met testified that he had a clear memory of his brother’s whereabouts on the day of the fatal shooting. According to him, Jim Wasson left early to check on a cotton patch near Woodville and returned just after dark, riding double behind John McLaughlin on McLaughlin’s horse. The two men appeared unhurried and in good spirits, and McLaughlin remainedmountedwhileJim dismounted to eat supper at their home.
Met told the court that his brother had a pistol that evening—a .45 Colt—but insisted it was unloaded. He described Jim removing the weapon and putting it on the bed before joining the family meal. Shortly after eating, McLaughlin asked Jim to come home with him. Jim agreed, saying he had no horse of his own, and once again mounted behind McLaughlin. The two men left into the dark, leaving no sign of tension or alarm.
According to Met, others were at the house that night. Joe Richardson arrived first, intoxicated, claiming he had been hired by Jim to pick cotton. John McAlister arrived shortly afterward on foot, saying he had just come from Woodville. Both men, Met testified, stayed at the Wasson residence that night.
Pressed by the defense, Met recalled that Jim had acquired the .45 pistol from a man named Frank Turner earlierthatsamedayandhad not fired it. He also noted that Jim had purchased the pistol from Jerry Lewis to settle a debt, suggesting that it was not used in any malicious context. The weapon, according to Met, showed little sign of use, possibly having discharged only a single round.
The defense was careful to emphasize Met’s observation that neither his brother nor McLaughlin showed signs of agitation or emotional distress upon returning home. Met stated plainly that McLaughlin did not appear to be crying or acting out of sorts, although he conceded that McLaughlin tended to become emotional when drunk. He also recalled that the men had a fox tied to the saddle—evidence, the defense implied, of a casual and uneventful outing, not a night of murder.
However, under crossexamination, the prosecution worked to undermine Met’s credibility and recollection. He admitted he was not present when his brother and McLaughlin left Woodville earlier that evening. He could not definitively say why they might have gone to Darling’s store, nor confirm whether they attempted to obtain ammunition there. Though Met stated his brother had no cartridges and that he had been told there were none available at Darling’s, he offered no firsthand knowledge to support the claim.
The prosecution further probed the timeline of Jim Wasson’s movements after the shooting. Met said Jim remained in the area for four or five days before leaving for the Texas Panhandle, where hestayedforsome18months. McLaughlin, he testified, returned approximately three months after Jim. When questioned about McLaughlin’s whereabouts, Met admitted he had only seen him twice since his return and did not know where he was at the time of the trial. Asked directly if McLaughlin was “onascout”—afugitive—Met demurred, saying simply, “I don’t know.”
In redirect, the defense aimed to reaffirm the benign nature of Jim’s acquisition of the pistol. They reiterated that the weapon was known as the “Smothers pistol” and that Jim had obtained it from Frank Turner before the day of the killing. Met insisted the pistol showed little sign of use, perhaps only one round having been fired.
Thoughthetestimonywas lengthy and often tangled in minor contradictions, it aimed to create a reasonable doubt. Wasson’s version of events depicted a brother who was home for dinner, not hiding from guilt; who picked up a pistol, not out of malice, but casually; and who, if burdened, bore it silently. Whether the jury would accept his brother’s calm recollection as truth—or see it as family loyalty obscuring facts—remained to be seen.
After Met Wasson left the witness chair, the courtroom was filled with a breathless silence as the defendant took the stand. Under direct questioning from his defense attorney and with Judge Isaac C. Parker presiding with a steely gaze, Wasson provided his version of the events that led to the fatal shooting—an account filled with contradictions, half-recollections, and a haze of alcohol.
Wasson started calmly, confirming that he knew the deceased, Henry Martin, during his lifetime, along with his companion and alleged accomplice, John McLaughlin. He stated that at the time of the killing, he was living on McLaughlin's farm. He recounted that on the day Martin died, he went into Woodville and visited the local store and gin, where he met several men and drank some whiskey. Wasson admitted that he was intoxicated by the time he left.
He testified that he had obtained a .44-caliber pistol from Frank Turner, which initially belonged to Jerry Lewis, and later swapped it with McLaughlin for a .45-caliber pistol. They had used the pistols for a shooting match, during which Wasson claimed to have emptied all five rounds into a cask by a tree. Attempting to reload before he left town, he found no cartridges available at the store.
According to his account, he departed Woodville on foot with a boy named Richardson, whom he claimed to have hired to help his brother with cotton picking. They proceeded toward Wasson's home but dismounted at Widow Reeves’ place, from where McLaughlin returned on horseback and allowed Wasson to ride double with him back to the farm.
Curiously, Wasson then described veering off to look forMartin,withwhomhehad allegedly discussed a horse trade earlier that day. Martin had offered to pay sixty dollars to boot for Wasson's horse. Wasson claimed he was unable to locate Martin and instead stopped at old man Richardson’s house near the fields north of Mrs. Brooks’ property. It was around dusk when Wasson stated he heard five or six shots in the distance, near Alex Juzan's field, which he claimed to have been 50 yards from.
On being pressed by his attorney, Wasson denied any involvement in Martin’s killing. He testified that neither he nor McLaughlin had anything to do with the crime and swore he never confessed to anyone—not to Reeves, nor Juzan—that he had killed a man.
He did, however, admit to being heavily intoxicated the night of the killing and could not recall events from the religious meeting he attended. He claimed not to remember going to the preacher with boots and a pistol in hand, though several witnesses, including his brother, Charles Wasson, and witness Oscar Reeves, testified otherwise.
Cross-examination was sharp and unforgiving. Under government questioning, Wasson admitted he left the area shortly after the killing of Almarine Watkins, a second man whose death shadowed the Martin affair. Wasson stated that he fled to Motley County, Texas, where he worked on a ranch and eventually passed through the Panhandle with a drove of cattle. He confessed that he had not stayed at his home again after the night of the Martin killing, choosing instead to travel with McLaughlin toward the Cherokee Outlet and points west.
Pressed for details, Wasson admitted that he had no one in court who could confirm his whereabouts during the critical period between leaving Mrs. Brooks’ house and returning home—an absence that seems more suspicious given the detailed witness accounts placing Wasson and McLaughlin near the scene of the murder.
He attempted to paint a picture of casual meandering, explaining his journey from Birdsong’s to Darling’s Store, but the prosecution relentlessly challenged these claims. Why, they asked, wouldWassonandMcLaughlin set out on a 400-mile journey to Texas with horses unshod? Why were they seen so near the trail where Martin's body was found, and why did no witness—save his alleged hired hand—see Wasson at the precise times he claimed?
Ultimately, Wasson's testimony seemedtoswayfewin thecourtroom.Thecontradictions between his words and the testimony of others—Juzan, Reeves, McAlister, and his own kin—cast a shadow over his defense. Yet he remained composed, insistent onhisinnocence,andresolute in denying all accusations of murder.
Whether the jury will believe him, in whole or in part, remains to be seen. But the words spoken by James Wasson from the witness box may very well decide his fate.
After Wasson’s testimony, the prosecution and defense called two men with experience in firearms to illuminate a critical question that could sway the jury: whether .44 caliber cartridges could be fired from a .45 caliber pistol.
First to take the stand was Deputy U.S. Marshal John O. Farr, a man of lean frame and sharp eyes, long accustomed to the weight of a revolver on his hip. Farr, summoned by Prosecutor Clayton, confirmed that he carried a .45-caliber pistol in the execution of his duties. When asked whether a .44 caliber cartridge could be fired from such a weapon, Farr did not hesitate.
“Yes, sir,” he affirmed. “I frequently shoot them. The rim of a .44 and .45 cartridge—at least for a Winchester— is the same. They’re a little loose in the chamber and not quite so sure, but I’ve killed squirrels with them, shot out of a .45 pistol.”
It was a plain answer, but one that carried significant legal implications. If Wasson had used a .45 revolver—and only .44 shells were found or matched—it would weaken the prosecution’s linkage betweensuspectandweapon, unless compatibility could be proven.
Under cross-examination by defense attorney Barnes, Farr clarified that his most recent experience with interchangeable ammunition came “down in the Choctaw country,” and not in the Chickasaw Nation where the murder occurred. Still, the possibility that a .44 cartridge could be used in a .45 pistolremainedontherecord.
Seeking to bolster their case, the defense called Arnold L. Conyers, a guard and member of a posse operating out of Fort Smith. Conyers, too, was well acquainted with firearms, having fired both .44 and .45 caliber pistols.
Barnesledthequestioning with precision. “What effect does shooting a .44 cartridge from a .45 pistol have?” he asked.
“It busts them,” Conyers replied. “They won’t shoot alike at all.”
He went on to explain that the loose fit of a .44 cartridge in a .45 chamber disrupted the bullet’s trajectory and significantly reduced accuracy. “You can’t shoot with any degree of accuracy,” he testified.
To reinforce the point, Barnes inquired about the performance of older-model pistols—specifically those in circulation three or four years ago, such as those that might have been in the hands of someone like Wasson.
“I don’t know,” Conyers admitted. “I never used them that far back.”
During cross-examination, the government probed whether the cartridges could still be deadly even if imprecise. “Suppose you were 10 feet off and shot at an object the size of that post,” the attorney posed. “Could you hit it?”
“Yes, sir,” Conyers conceded. “I reckon so. I’ve never tried them in shooting at a man.”
It was an admission that, while qualified, suggested that such a shot—though not optimal—was not impossible. But the larger question of whether Wasson did fire the fatal shots that ended Henry Martin’s life remained clouded.
With the testimony of Farr and Conyers concluded, both sides now stood ready to present their closing arguments. The court, presided over by the austere figure of Judge Isaac Parker, would soon turn over the fate of the defendant to a jury burdened with reconciling conflicting stories, uncertain ballistics, and the weight of life and death.
As the final witness stepped down and the last words echoed off the stone walls of the courtroom, the trial of James Wasson entered its closing act. The prosecution, steady and unflinching, delivered a summation of the state’s case that was as methodical as it was damning—recounting each witness, each contradiction laid bare, and each step in the grim journey from Henry Martin’s cabin to Wasson’s arrest. The prosecutor’s voice rose and fell like a funeral bell, urging the jury to see in the defendant’s actions not misunderstanding or panic, but cold-blooded murder.
In response, the defense made its final plea—not merely for leniency, but for understanding. They asked the jury to consider the chaos of the frontier, the tangled loyalties of kin and country, and the fear that might grip a man in the face of confrontation. They reminded the panel that guilt, in this nation of laws, must rest on certainty, not suspicion.
Then, Judge Isaac C. Parker— grim-faced and robed in black—delivered his charge to the jury. His instructions were precise, deliberate, and heavy with the weight of law. He reminded them of their duty to judge only the facts, not speculation or rumor; to set aside sympathy or vengeance; to determine, above all, whether James Wasson was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.
The courtroom fell silent as the twelve jurors rose and filed solemnly into the jury room, the door closing behind them with a finality that left a hush over the gallery. Family members clutched one another. Reporters scribbled their final lines. And James Wasson—whose fate now rested in the hands of twelve strangers—sat motionless, the storm behind him, the gallows or freedom ahead.
The verdict had not yet been spoken. But the long shadow of judgment had fallen. In the charged silence of the Fort Smith courtroom, the stage was set for the final act of a trial that had gripped two nations and now sought its verdict not only from the law—but from the truth itself.