“Why, night before last his horse came home with the bridle under his feet. They raised the neighborhood, and followed the horse’s tracks to William Griffin’s door, and then it got dark, and they lost them; however, they hunted in the slough holes, and all about, a good part of the night, for it was cold, and they knew if he laid out he’d perish. But the next morning, when Mr. Griffin went out to feed his hogs, there lay the poor old man in the hogs’ bed, stone dead. Boys, do either of you drink spirit?”