"Why, what's the matter?" asked Elwood, a vague alarm taking possession of him, as he rather hurriedly obeyed him.
"May the good Lord presarve us! them are Injuns!"
"'May the good Lord preserve us! them are Injuns,' said Tim."
"I thought they looked odd," said Elwood, "but I did not think of that. Are they friendly?"
"Friendly!" repeated Tim, with an expression of intense disgust. "Do you know what they are walking up and down the sand fur in that sassy shtyle?"
"Plunder, I suppose."