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 time when the Wolff family and Hofer were murdered, for Layer in his confession states that he arrived at Wolff’s about 11 :30 a. m., and returned to his home at about 2:30 p. m.

Layer in one of his affidavits makes statements to the effect that the confession which he signed was procured by reason of threats of and abuse by certain officers of the law, and was procured by them by fear instilled into him by them and by their representations to him. In his affidavits he states:

“After supper on May 12th, I was taken to the sheriff’s office and questioned and shown pictures of the murder scene. They kept up the questioning until about 2:30 a. m., at which time the sheriff, Martineson, and the gray-haired heavy-set man, whom I believed to be a railroad detective, took turns at questioning me. They repeatedly told me that there was a mob outside, and that my only chance of saving my life from being strung up on a telephone pole was to make a confession, and for them to get me out of Washburn. They cursed me, took my chair away from me, and made me stand until I was dizzy and faint. All this time I maintained that I was innocent, and that I knew nothing of the murder; finally, the man that I thought was a railroad detective beat me along the side of my head, and took me by the hair and pulled, after which he sat down across the table from me and related to me just how the murder happened, and told me what I would have to say, and then he got up and shook a billy club in my face and told me if I would not say what he wanted, he would beat my brains out. I then gave up, started to cry, and said I would do and say what they wanted. Martineson and the sheriff called in a large tall man, who wrote down the story that I was compelled to tell. Whenever what I said did not suit this man, who I thought was the detective, he would stop me and tell me what to say. They next called in Williams, state’s attorney, and made me tell the same story to him as nearly as I could remember. The detective still kept correcting me and forcing me to say what he wanted.

“After this, I asked to send for my wife or Will Brokofsky, but they would not let me. The next morning I was taken before a magistrate, but was told before they took me out of jail that I must stick to the story that they told me the night before, and that my only chance to save my life and get away from Washburn was to stick to that story, and not ask any one for an attorney or for a trial. After leaving the magistrate’s office I was taken back to jail for a few minutes, and then again taken out and rushed