"And I wonder what the sufferin' Chris'mas they're doin' here, anyway.

If it's huntin' the Injun Jim they're after, the quicker they scrape the sut off them dingbats and git outa here, the healthier they'll ride.

You ask anybody if Casey Ryan's liable to back up now he's on the ground and squared away!" He stood there uneasily for a minute or two longer, caught a whiff of his bacon scorching and stooped to its rescue.

Then he fried a bannock hastily in the bacon grease, folded two slices of bacon within it and ate in a hurry, keeping an ear cocked for any further sounds from the concealed car.
He finished eating without having heard more and piled his dishes without washing them.

I don't suppose he had used more than ten minutes at the longest in eating his supper.