"She'll never marry Poleon Doret."

"Why?" inquired Alluna.

"He ain't her kind."

"Poleon is a good man."

"None better. But she'll marry some--some white man."

"Poleon is white," the squaw declared.

"He is and he ain't. I mean she'll marry an 'outside' man. He ain't
good enough, and--well, he ain't her kind." Alluna's grunt of
indignation was a sufficient answer to this, but he resumed, jerking
his head in the direction of the barracks. "She's been talking a lot
with this--this soldier."

"Him good man, too, I guess," said the wife.

"The hell he is!" cried the trader, fiercely. "He don't mean any
good to her."

"Him got a woman, eh?" said the other.

"No, no! I reckon he's single all right, but you don't understand.
He's different from us people. He's--he's--" Gale paused, at a loss
for words to convey his meaning. "Well, he ain't the kind that would
marry a half-breed."