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66 THE HOUSE THAT SHADOWS BUILT
dragging tepee poles down the road, she rushed to the stove and started a fire. But next spring, when the Indians came out of winter quarters for their hunting, that original band stopped at her door and with cordial grunts gave her a freshly killed antelope and some skins to wrap her babies in — present for present. Then she began better to understand them; even to like them.
Once, after she had fed a band of these self-invited guests, a squaw lingered behind. She did not seem well. Mrs. Kaufmann gave her a cup of hot tea. She thanked her hostess with her eyes, rose, disappeared in the direction of the barn. Mrs. Kaufmann supposed that she had gone. But an hour later she reentered, carrying in her blanket a new-born papoose. She accepted another cup of tea, picked up her baby, and hurried on after the train. . . .
One night three men rode up with a fusilade of hoofs, knocked imperatively at the door, and asked for food. Her men were away. Mrs. Kaufmann, shaking with terror, cooked coffee and bacon. Two of the invaders ate at the table, and then one carried his rations to a third who stayed outside riding herd on a band of horses. They offered to pay. Mrs. Kaufmann, who had learned frontier manners, refused the money. They laid it emphatically on the table, rose, and drove the horses away. At dawn, another knocking at the door. This time the front yard was filled with mounted and armed men who demanded to know if any strangers had come