We will talk of something else," he said.
Alton and Seaforth sat up late that night, but what their conversation was did not appear until they walked into a room at the rear of Horton's store just as supper was being cleared away on the Saturday evening.

The nights were already growing cold, and a pile of pinewood crackled in the stove, while the light of two big lamps fell upon the bronzed faces of grave jean-clad men, all turned expectantly towards Alton.

He sat down at the head of the table, with Seaforth beside him, and Horton, got up in a frayed-out white shirt from which his bony wrists and red neck protruded grotesquely, at the foot.

The rest sat on the table and sundry boxes and barrels smoking tranquilly.

They were, for the most part, silent men who waged a grim and ceaseless warfare with the forest, and disdained any indication of curiosity.
Nobody asked a question, but the steady eyes which watched the convener of the meeting were mildly inquiring when he rose up.
"I sent for you, boys, because it seemed the fairest thing," he said.
"Now somebody has got to take hold with a tight grip if the dollars that are coming into it are to go to the men who have done the work in this valley.