"You wants pelts. You may need help of a fighting tribe."
"Well?"
"One armed mountain tribe is worth more to you in trade and war than all the fishing Injuns in the world."
"Perhaps," was the dry response, "or they might take their trade to the American Fur Company, and use our guns to blackmail our brigades."
"Depends on who runs the tribe."
"It does. How's Tschirikov?"
"Dead."
"Left everything to you?"
"Alow and aloft."
"You run the Lower Kutenais now?"