Unable to reach the bridle he hastily dismounted. As he
swung his right foot around to the ground the colt kicked it, crushing
the ankle joint. He quietly called mother; and Brother May, who
happened to be passing, helped him into the house, and sent for a
surgeon.
We feared no worse result at the first than a crippled ankle. He said
to Bro. White, who visited him a _few_ days after he was hurt, "Oh,
I will get up all right; a Butler never was conquered, you know. My
only concern is that I shall not become a permanent cripple."
The first week he was hopeful, though suffering much pain. The second
week he was delirious, with high fever. Then he was prostrated with a
severe nervous chill--his already over-wrought nervous system was
exhausted by pain. From that time he lay in an unconscious stupor the
greater part of the time. He passed quietly away at half-past three A.
M., October 19, 1888, at the age of seventy-two.
His funeral took place the following day in the church at Pardee.
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