“Oh, he’s dead,” replied Till; “shot by Griswold.”
“Where’s Griswold?”
“He’s back there somewhere—I don’t know where.”
Cook went to work to investigate, and found a confused state of affairs, which has been described as well as can be in the foregoing. The officers of the jail had not yet had an opportunity to ascertain the true state of affairs. In fact, the smoke of the late affray had not yet cleared away. It was generally believed that Sanford Davis had been shot, and no one knew that Griswold had received the liberal dose of lead for which his malady called so loudly. Confusion reigned supreme, and everybody was excited. The jail was a pandemonium. Nothing was known. There was chaos everywhere. A half dozen men might have been killed.
Gen. Cook lost no time in beginning to straighten matters out. Finding that Wight had taken part in the melee, Cook hurried to his cell, but found Griswold in it instead of Wight. Cook demanded his pistol. He said he had given it to Wight.
“I am dying, don’t you see?” he muttered, “and couldn’t use it if I had it. So I opened the cell and came in and let Wight out and told him to make his escape if he wanted to get away, as I couldn’t.”
“Shot! Of course you are! Come out of here!” exclaimed Dave, who never dreamed that the old scoundrel had been hurt in the row which he had instigated, and did not dare hope that he had been mortally wounded. With this exclamation he dragged the fellow out by the coat collar, large as he was, and laid him out in the office, when he discovered that the man was really not feigning. He then found that Till Davis had planted a ball in the old fellow’s breast, and left him to make his peace with his Maker; and went to look for Wight.
Cook tracked Wight to the stable and began looking for him with a pitchfork in the straw. He had sent the steel prongs of the implement piercing through the hay but once or twice, when out he crawled, leaving the pistol cocked lying on the floor. When Cook took Wight back to jail, old Griswold was dead. He had been shot through and through.
Everybody considered that he deserved his fate, and there were few mourners to follow his body to the old cemetery on the hill the next day. There may have been one or two. It was afterwards discovered that the jail delivery had been planned with the assistance of two citizens of the town, who had horses in waiting for the murderers. One of them has since died.
The woman with whom Griswold had lived was another mourner. She seemed to be sincerely attached to the man, whom she now called her poor, dear husband. It was discovered after Griswold’s death that during his imprisonment this woman had done everything in her power to assist him in his escape, and had been his confidant and adviser throughout.