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.

"Buy _your_ mill?" said Lew. "Hell, his mill is five times as big, and
he's even got a burner to take care of slashings, so he don't have to
shut down in the fire season."

"He just wants the land," said Pop, "because it's near the highway. He
wants to tear down my setup and build a pulp mill."

"A _pulp_ mill!" If we could have seen Doc's eyes through the glasses I
imagine they'd have been popped open a full half inch. "Why, then
they'll be cutting down everything but the brush!"

Pop nodded. "Yeah. Size of a log don't matter when you make paper--just
so it's wood."

It seemed as though Doc was talking to himself. "They'll strip the land
down bare," he mumbled. "And the hills will wash away, and the chemicals
they use in the mill will kill the fish in the creeks and the Illinois
River."

"That's why they won't let anyone start a pulp mill near Grants Pass,"
said Pop. "Most of the town's money comes from sports who come up to the
Rogue River to fish."

Rusty set his jaw. "In the winter we _need_ them fish," he said. He was
right, too. The woods close down in the winter, on account of the snow,
and if a man can't hunt and fish he's liable to get kind of hungry. That
rocking chair money doesn't stretch very far.

"I ain't gonna sell," said Pop. "But that won't stop Burt Holden, and
any place he builds the mill around here will drain into the Illinois."

Doc pushed back his chair and stood up