Bitterroot Valley Exit, Pursued by a Bruised Ego

Humble's my middle name, Chief, he spoke around his part of the elk. Tail swung low behind him, flicking with each step they took. A rhythm shared. Ain't no big heads here, came gentle muse. Shuffle of shoulders as he stifled chuckles.
Wave of curiosity overcame him as they walked back towards the valley, pulling their catch as they went. Pushed past the part in which he tugged, he spoke again:
Completely unrelated, but, if ya got wed, and since yer chief, what'd yer lady be called? Her, er, rank within the group, if ya will, and he did mean it in an unrelated sense, though would not be surprised if it was taken a different way. In all honesty, he'd probably be amused by it. Since I ain't knowin' much 'bout a place that's meant to be my new home. Another laugh, though muffled by elkskin.
He pulled, pulled, pulled. Carried his weight and more.

Looking to learn, he was.