Bitterroot Valley Exit, Pursued by a Bruised Ego

He stood tall, now, as Sega arrived, drawing closer. He made note of the approval behind his nod, firm and well-intending. Gave a flick of his tail in quiet acknowledgement. And the man followed his eyes towards the rise, drinking in the scents that ebbed and flowed through the valley.
Mm, he hummed, confirming Sega's words.
Lead the way, Chief, Barrett said. And when he turned, Barrett followed. Succeeded his expectations. Stepped in stride beside him, though lingering only an inch or so behind. Still, wariness ate at him, though he kept paw-in-paw with his new gang-leader. Met his eyes, sun-bright against wine-dark. Nodded.
Y'all be huntin' fairly often, huh? Made conversation. Quietly looking to learn more. —with those pelts hung in the clearin', y'know. Fancy craft, that is. You do it? Because, perhaps rather obviously, the outlaw would care to learn.
However a rare occurrence that may be.