Art: They lived there. They brought my dad and my brother home, and back there where the road had crossed the old crickbed? My dad was in the lead, and his right front wagon wheel broke through the ice, when he was crossing this crick. And when the—you know, when it all hit—well that that flipped the tongue of the wagon, and it knocked that right hand horse down. They all broke through the ice, and Dad jumped off and went out there, and pulled this horse's nose out of the water, so he could breathe, until my brother got there. And unhooked the horses, and stood the wagon tongue on end, to where this horse could get up. The tongue was over the horse.
BH: Oh my gosh.
Art: Then—they unhooked all the rest of the horses, and rode four and a half miles to the nearest house. After sundown, right in the middle of the winter—and no doubt wet to the waist. How they survived, I'll never know.
BH: And didn't get to sick?
Art: Not to my memory, they didn't.