human
Lumbermen are more to blame, said another.
gpt
Where they've been nobody wants to go. They cut everything down t' the size o' yer wrist an' leave the soil covered with tinder-stacks. They think o' nothin' but the profit. Case o' fire, woods 'round 'em wouldn't hev a ghost of a show.
human
Look at the Weaver tract, said he who sat on the nail-keg.
gpt
Four thousand acres o' dead tops--miles on 'em--an' all as dry as gunpowder. If you was t' touch a match there ye'd have to run fer yer life.
human
Go like a scairt deer, said he of the cracker-barrel.
gpt
W-woods g-goin',