"Ah, ah. Dead."
The pathos in Klitonda's voice, and the pained expression upon his face, deterred Natsatt from inquiring further.
"Do the white traders come here now?" he asked.
The chief shook his head.
"No, the white men have never traded here."
"But where do you sell your furs?"
"To the Chilcat wolves," and Klitonda's voice hardened. "They come here; they rob the Ayana. They are bad, ugh!"
"But why do you trade with them?"
"Where else can the Ayana trade? What can they do with their skins?"
"Will the Chilcats get all these?" and Natsatt pointed to the furs hanging on the walls.