Copied from Elias Adams: A Pioneer Profile, published in 2007. Pg 340.

A great-great granddaughter retells a family story:

One bright summer morning Grandmother Adams [Malinda] was churning butter when all of a sudden she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves and the whooping of Indians. She left the butter on the table, and gathering her children in her arms, ran out the back door to hide in a clump of bushes. You see, Grandmother was frightened, for she and the children were all alone. Soon the Indians arrived at the log cabin. They got off their horses and went into the house. The first thing they spied was grandmother’s pretty yellow butter on the table. They thought it was a new kind of war paint so they dipped their hands into the butter and began rubbing it all over their bare chests and arms. After plastering themselves in such a manner, they danced out of the house to jump on their horses. In the bright sunshine they looked like greasy pigs. When they had disappeared down the dusty road, grandmother came back into the house to find the butter gone. She did not mind much, however, because she was thankful that she and the children had not been harmed.