Expectin’ that he’d grab me; just a-harkin’ for
his yell.
But things stayed calm and quiet, so I peeked;
he laid there sprawled
’Bout a dozen yards behind me. And he looked
so queer I crawled
Slowly back to reconnoitre, got where I could
see his head,
Saw his face was black’s a stove-pipe. Apo-
plexy! He was dead.