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S7 Available.

Charles Egbert Craddock

The story of old Fort Loudon []. Upper Saddle River, N. S8 Available. The fair Mississippian : a novel []. F3 Available. The storm centre; a novel []. New York, London, Macmillan, S69 Available. The juggler. Boston, and New York, Houghton, Mifflin and comapny, Description Book — 1 p. J85 Available. His vanished star []. H5 Available. Down the ravine [ - ]. D6 Available.


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The prophet of the Great Smoky mountains []. Boston, New York, Houghton, Mifflin company, M97PM Available M97PM Available. The young mountaineers; short stories []. Freeport, N. Y6 Available.

The ordeal; a mountain romance of Tennessee []. Philadelphia, London, J. Lippincott Company, Description Book — , [1] p. O7 Available. The mystery of Witch-Face Mountain, and other stories []. Description Book — 2 p. Summary The mystery of Witch-Face Mountain. M9 Available. The phantoms of the foot-bridge, and other stories []. Description Book — 4 p.

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Summary The phantoms of the foot-bridge. P4 Unknown. In the "Stranger People's" country : a novel []. New York : Harper, I5 Available. In the Tennessee mountains []. Summary Drifting down Lost Creek. M97I ED. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin, Description Book — [4], p. A-playin' of old sledge at the Settlemint. Andy was pleased to change the subject.

One could obtain some idea of the speed and impetus of the current from the swift vehemence with which logs and branches shot past, half hidden in foam. The water looked black with this white contrast. Here and there a great, grim rock projected sharply above the surface.

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In the normal condition of the stream, these were its overhanging banks, but now, submerged, they gave to its flow the character of rapids. The old mill, its wooden supports submerged too, trembled and throbbed with the throbbing water. As Jack looked toward the window, his eyes were suddenly distended, his cheek paled, and he sprang to the door with a frightened exclamation.

Too late! It careened, and quivered in every fibre; there was a crash of falling timbers, then a mighty wrench, and the two boys, clinging to the window-frame, were driving with the wreck down the river. The old mill thundered against the submerged rocks, and at every concussion the timbers fell. It whirled around and around in eddying pools. Where the water was clear, and smooth, and deep, it shot along with great rapidity. The convulsively clinging boys looked down upon the black current, with its sharp, treacherous, half-seen rocks and ponderous driftwood.


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    • The wild idea of plunging into the tumult and trying to swim to the bank faded as they looked. Here in the crazy building there might be a chance. In that frightful swirl there lurked only a grim certainty. The house had swung along in the middle of the stream; now its course was veering slightly to the left. This could be seen through the window and the interstices of the half-fallen timbers. The boys were caged, as it were; the doorway was filled with the heavy debris, and the only possibility of escape was through that little window.

    It was so small that only one could pass through at a time,--only one could be saved. Jack had seen the chance from far up the stream. There was a stretch of smooth water close in to the bank, on which was a low-hanging beech-tree,--he might catch the branches. They were approaching the spot with great rapidity.

    Only one could go. He himself had discovered the opportunity,--it was his own. Life was sweet,--so sweet! He could not give it up; he could not now take thought for his friend. He could only hope with a frenzied eagerness that Andy had not seen the possibility of deliverance. In another moment Andy lifted himself into the window. A whirlpool caught the wreck, and there it eddied in dizzying circles. It was not yet too late. Jack could tear the smaller, weaker fellow away with one strong hand, and take the only chance for escape. The shattered mill was dashing through the smoother waters now; the great beech-tree was hanging over their heads; an inexplicable, overpowering impulse mastered in an instant Jack's temptation.

    His friend was gone, and he was whirling off alone on those cruel, frantic waters. In the midst of the torrent he was going down, and down, and down the mountain. Now and then he had a fleeting glimpse of the distant ranges. There was "Elijah's Step," glorified in the sunset, purple and splendid, with red and gold clouds flaming above it.

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    To his untutored imagination they looked like the fiery chariot again awaiting the prophet. The familiar sight, the familiar, oft-repeated fancy, the recollection of his home, brought sudden tears to his eyes. He gazed wistfully at the spot whence he believed the man had ascended who left death untasted, and then he went on in this mad rush down to the bitterness of death. Even with this terrible fact before him, he did not reproach himself with his costly generosity. It was strange to him that he did not regret it; perhaps, like that mountain, he had suddenly taken up life on a higher level.

    The sunset splendor was fading.