Whitefish River that's a lot of fish

They weren't wrong. He had no concrete claim on the river, no official scent markings. That mere fact didn't instill any apologies in the outlaw. To the winter patterned woman, he offered an irritated scoff. Smartass. "Yeah, real clever. Now hit the trail, yer interruptin' my sulking." 

With an angered glare, he turned to the red wolf. Who the hell did he think he was, damn him. As far as Calahan was concerned, this was his spot, his river, his temporary camp. And to hell with anyone who didn't like it. "What was that, yew sonofabitch?"