The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1908-07-24
For His
Loves Sake
By JAMES BUCKHAM
'ssseOeeoeeoseeeessesssses
(Copyright, by Shortstory Pub. Coz


They were building a branch rail-
road up the Little Otter valley, ana
the hazy August air was vexed with
the clatter of pick and shovel, the
rumble of dump-cars, the creak of der
Ticks, and an occasional heavy blast
that shook heaven and earth like far
resounding thunder-clap. These were
unwonted activities for that quiet and
remote country valley, and its scat
tered inhabitants watched them with
undisguised excitement and wonder.
Haying and harvesting were now
nearly finished on the upland farms,
and, daily, vehicles filled with entire
families came, picnie-wise, to the
scene of operations, the people all in
their Sunday best, and gay of spirits
over their novel holiday. Intermingled
with the family carryalls were also
smart buggies, built for two, in which
country lovers and sweethearts
packed their bliss for long days
happy outing
From the eastward over the long
Otter valleys, toiled heavy wagons,
carrying supplies from the nearest
railroad station for the gangs Of work
men. These supplies were mostly pro-
visions and other necessaries for the
camps. But occasionally a wagon
came along covered with a dark col
ored tarpaulin, carefully lashed down
at sides and ends. Those who knew
the signs whispered: There goes a
load of dynamite!" and every one
breathed easier when 1t had passed
out of sight
On a certain Saturday afternoon,
breathless and hot, one of these tar
paulin-covered wagons reached the
top of the ridge between Big Otter
and Little Otter valleys, and the
driver pulled up his team to rest; for
going down the slope was almost as
hard as coming up, with the heavy
load, in spite of brakes, pushing stead
lily on the pole. All the way down that
long HILL dazzling with its white dust,
the stones had been carefully picked
out of the road, lest jolt should set
free the pent-up demon of destruction
always paused ON the ridge-not only
to rest his horses, but because he
dreaded that long down grade, on top
of his two tons of dynamite
What would you do If something
should give way?" asked voice be-
hind him, suddenly, this blazing Aug
ust afternoon. The driver started and
turned on his seat. A young man,
with a rifle over his shoulder and a
string of gray squirrels dangling from
his belt, was peering under the great
wagon. He had come silently out of
the woods near by, and his question
was like the unexpected crack of a
gun on the still air.
wal" replied the driver, recovering
his self-possession and shifting his
quid of tobacco to the opposite cheek,
81 reckon I'd do about the same thing
you would-Td jump"
II wouldn't jump" retorted the
young countryman; "that is, not as
things are with me now. | shouldn't |
care much if went up with the out
fit"
Perhaps you wouldn't" replied the
other, quietly, "but I would. I've got
a wife and two kids
The young man with the rifle sighed
heavily, but held his peace
Doesn't that make a difference?"
urged the driver
'Yes-it makes difference" NUT
tered the other. He walked to the
edge of the road and sat down on the
bank opposite the man on the wagon.
Another fellows got my girl" he
saidt heavily. You don't know any
thing about that. You cant. A man