"We've killed him!" cried Jerry, as on we rushed, expecting to find a rich prize.  He was lying down when we hit him, we saw that.  We kept him in sight for some way, then we found our further progress somewhat impeded by the bogginess of the ground.  At last we were brought to a stand-still about ten paces from our victim.  Jerry gave a blank look at me, and I looked at him, and burst out laughing.  The poor beast was not alive, certainly, but we were innocent of his death.  He had evidently got into the bog in wet weather, and in vain struggling to free himself, had died of starvation.  His head was stretched out, as if hopelessly longing for the rich food he saw growing not thirty yards from him, which yet he could not reach.  All around the morass were the hoof-marks of his comrades, as if they had been watching him in his dying struggles, scampering round and round, perhaps with terror, or perhaps thinking how they might help him.