And perhaps they weren't planning to send her to school.

Perhaps they were going to send her to fashionable relatives in the East, where she would unwittingly become the rival of her beautiful but cold-hearted cousin for the hand of a rich young stock-broker, and be ill-treated and long for the old miners who would get word of it and buy some fine clothes from Joe--Buy or Sell, and go East to the consternation of the rich relatives and see that their little mountain flower was treated right.
As he identified this photo-play he studied the interior of the cabin, the rough table at which the three now ate, the makeshift chairs, the rifle over the fireplace, the picks and shovels, the shelf along the wall with its crude dishes, the calico curtain screening off what would be the dressing room of the little mountain flower.

It was a home-like room, for all its roughness.

Along one wall were two bunks, one above the other, well supplied with blankets.
The director, after a final shot of one of the miners being scalded by his coffee which he drank from a saucer, had said, "All right, boys! We'll have the fight first thing in the morning." Merton Gill passed on.

He didn't quite know what the fight would be about.