"Mama's name was Sarah too," Aunt Sarah related. "She said the name meant Princess of God. I tried to act like a princess but sometimes I lost my temper.

We lived in Las Animas when we first moved to Colorado and stayed there until 1878, when I was four years old. Papa and the boys worked for the Santa Fe railroad.

Oscar and Albert liked to play cowboys and Indians, but I was afraid of Indians. Sometimes Oscar and Albert made me so mad because they acted like they thought they were real Indians. I'd hide behind Mama's skirts. She was hanging up clothes on the line. With 11 kids at home we had a bunch of washing to do and she and Lura spent many hours over the scrub board getting the dirt out.

"Boys," Mama said to my brothers. "Did you tell Sadie you were going to scalp her?"

They admitted it.

"Stop scaring her with all this talk about Indians." Mama took the clothespin out of her mouth as she shook her finger at them.

"Aw Mama." Albert was nine and he was the spokesman. "Sadie's a 'scaredy cat."

"Am not," I'd shout. "I'm 'fraid of Injuns."

Then they made me even madder because they laughed at me.

We heard folks tell stories about the mountains -- that land in Colorado that went straight up in the sky but we hadn't seen them yet. Papa and the boys were too busy working on the railroad for us to take trips.

"We're getting mighty low on meat, Sam," Mama told Daddy one morning. Meat was salt cured or Mama canned it. Two of my brothers were married now and living across town but there were 13 of us still at home. "I been stretching it as much as I can but it's almost gone."

"It takes a lot of food to feed this bunch," Papa agreed. "Tell you what, some of the men at work say you can get some tasty venison in the mountains. Seems to me we could go on a hunting trip and get some meat. It'd be nice to see those Colorado mountains."

"That sounds fine with me," Mama said.

"The Santa Fe says we're going to move towards New Mexico soon. We could see what that country is like," Papa told her.

We were all anxious to see those big hills that folks told us about. Mama and Lura fixed the food and packed it in a basket. I helped them as much as I could while Papa and the boys got the wagon ready. My brother Doc and his wife were living in town so Doc would come and do chores for us.

We got up earlier than the sunshine one morning. It was still dark. Mama had a bed for me in the back of the wagon. The boys all walked while Mama, Lura and I rode in the wagon. I tried my best to stay awake but just couldn't keep my eyes open. The road was bumpy and when I woke up Oscar and Albert were hollering. I looked out the front, the horses were going straight up a narrow road and you could see so far down over the side it was scary. I hid my head. I was glad when I heard Papa holler "Whoa, Nellie. This is it." There were pine trees all around us.

"Just smell, Ma," Albert said as he came running over to the wagon. "Don't it smell good?"

"It sure does." Papa helped us down from the wagon.

"My lands, I'm stiff." Mama stretched. "I'll start supper now. Albert you get the stove for me."

Albert got the little iron stove out of the back of the wagon and Mama started frying the potatoes in the lard she'd brought, and warming up the beans. She sliced the loaf of bread and cooked some of the last of our ham.

"Smells good," Tommy said. "I'm starvin'."

"Someone else smelled it," Papa said as he nodded his head to three Indians who had rode up on spotted ponies and were watching us.

"I didn't even hear them," Mama whispered.

"Indians!" Oscar hollered. I started shaking and crept near to Mama.

"Sh--" Papa walked over to where the three Indians stood beside their ponies.

"Hungry," one of the Indians indicated. "Paleface give us food?"

"Yep," Papa said. Mama fixed three pie tins full of food.

I looked around for Oscar and Albert but I couldn't see them anywhere. I stayed close to Mama and watched while the Indians squatted on the ground and ate. They must of eaten for three hours. I was so hungry my stomach was growling. I hoped they didn't eat all of the food. After a long time they finally finished and handed the pans back to Papa.

"We trade little papoose for pony?" An Indian pointed at me. I was scared. "We trade Elk for little papoose-- Elk Horns make good chair."

"You can't have my baby." Mama grabbed me and held me close to her.

"No." Papa laughed. How could he think it was funny? "But how about the big papoose? You can have her."

Lura ran behind Mama. It had been a long time since 13 year old Lura had hidden behind Mama's skirt. I grabbed her hand, they couldn't have my big sister.

"No trade." The Indians laughed and slapped their legs. "We need little papoose."

"Nope." Papa smiled.

I peeked around the corner of Mama's skirt and watched as the three Indians mounted their spotted ponies and rode off. Albert and Oscar came out of their hiding place.

"They were joking." Lura sighed.

"You knew they were joshing?" Oscar asked.

"Sure." Papa laughed. "You don't think I'd trade my kids do you? Of course if you two brave boys hadn't disappeared I might have traded you."

"How'd you know they were only teasing, Papa?" Albert asked.

"Well, son," Papa said. "The good Book says the eyes are the window to the soul. The mouth tells lies, eyes don't lie."

"Why Indians are just like us," Albert exclaimed.

"Sure," Papa said. "There are good Indians and bad Indians, same as there are good whites and bad whites."

"Then it's not the color of the skin," Mama said as she started dishing out beans, potatoes and ham for the kids. "It's the color of the heart."

"I used to tell Mama sometimes when I would get aggravated, 'Why didn't you let the Indians have me? Then I wouldn't have to wear these clothes, I could just wrap up in a blanket.'"