It took some time for Father Roland's letter to convince him that David was harmless.

And then, all at once, he warmed up like a birch-bark taking fire, and shook David's hand three times within five minutes, so hungry was he for a white man's companionship--an _honest_ white man's, mind you, and not a scoundrelly competitor's! He opened four cans of lobsters, left over from Christmas, for their first meal, and that night beat David at seven games of cribbage in a row.

He wasn't married, he said; didn't even have an Indian woman.

Hated women.

If it wasn't for breeding a future generation of trappers he would not care if they all died.