Doc tipped up his bottle of beer. In Oregon they don't sell anything but beer in the taverns. "Times change," he said. "Back in 1900 all they wanted was gold. Now they're trying to take all the trees."
"It's the big operators like Burt," I said. "Little guys like Pop can't cut 'em as fast as they grow. The companies don't have to reseed, either, except on National Forest land."
"That Burt Holden was up to my place couple weeks ago," said Doc. "Darn near caught me skinning out a deer."
"He better not yap to the game warden," said Rusty. "Them laws is for sports and Outsiders, not us guys who need the meat."
"He wanted to buy all my timber," said Doc. "Offered me ten dollars a thousand board feet, on the stump."
"Don't sell," I advised him. "If Burt offers that much, almost anyone else will pay twelve."
Doc looked at me. "I'd never sell my trees. Not at any price. I got a hundred and sixty acres of virgin stand, and that's the way it's gonna stay. I cut up the windfalls and snags for firewood, and that's all."
"Here comes Pop," said Lew.
Pop sat down with us and had a beer. He looked worried. We didn't ask him any questions, because we figure a man will talk if he wants to, and if he doesn't it's his own business.
He finally unlimbered. "Burt Holden wants to buy the mill," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.