I stood up and shoved Rusty back down. I'm no taller than he is, but I outweigh him about twenty pounds. I started working in the woods when we still felled trees with axes and misery whips—crosscut saws to the Outsiders. "I'll go get him," I said. "You're still mad about the show, and you wouldn't be able to get him this far without mussing him up."
"There won't be no trouble," said Doc. "I just want to make him an offer."
I went over and told Burt that Doc wanted to talk to him. The three guys with him followed us back to the table.
Burt figured he knew what it was all about, and he just stood over Doc and looked down on him. "If it's about your timber, Yoris," he said, "I'll take it, but I can't pay you more than nine dollars now. Lumber's coming down, and I'm taking a chance even at that." He rocked back and forth on his heels and looked at Pop as though daring him to say different.
"I still don't want to sell, Mr. Holden," said Doc. "But I've got better than three million feet on my place, and I'll give it to you if you won't put a pulp mill anywhere in the Illinois Valley."
We were all floored at that, but Burt recovered first. He gave a nasty laugh. "Not interested, Yoris. If you want to sell, look me up."
"Wait!" said Doc. "A pulp mill will take every tree in the Valley. In a few years—"
"It'll make money, too," said Burt flatly.
"Money ain't everything by a long shot. It won't buy trees and creeks and rain."