"An' if it's the timber ye be wantin', I'll say no more about the mine.

Four thousand acres minin' claims no better than yer own have I seen held fer the trees on thim--an' ain't it the way some of these ole fellers thot goes around now wit' their two hands in their pants pockets an' no more work t' do wit' 'em than to light up their seegars--ain't it wit' the timber on their minin' claims that they made their pile?
A-ah--but them was the good times fer them that had brains.

A jackass like me an' Mike, here, we're the fellers thot went on a lookin' fer gold an' givin' no thought to the trees that stood above.

An' thim that took the gold an' the trees, they're the ones thot's payin' wages now to the likes of Mike an' me." He straightened his back and sent a speculative glance at the forest around him.

"'Tis long sence the thrick has been worked through," he mused, turning his plug of tobacco over in his hand, looking for a likely place to sink his stained old teeth.