Not that many people apart from the Insiders knew Doc. He hadn't been very active since the young medical doctor had come to Cave Junction in 1948, although he never turned down anyone who came for help, and as far as I knew he'd never lost a patient unless he was already dead when Doc got there. We were kidding Lew because he was still wearing his tin hat and caulked boots from work. "You figuring on starting early in the morning?" I asked him. Rusty and Doc laughed. It was a good joke because we rode out to the job in my jeep, and so we'd naturally get there at the same time. Then Rusty sat up straighter and looked over at the bar. "Hey," he said, "Pop's talking to Burt Holden." Pop Johnson owns our outfit. He's one of the small operators that guys like Burt are trying to squeeze out. "Hope he don't try to rook Pop into no deals," said Lew. 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. "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."